The Golden Scar
The rain against the plexiglass of the interrogation room was not a sound but a pressure, a constant, rhythmic hammering that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Commander Elias Thorne’s bones. He sat across from the boy, a creature of such fragile construction that he looked less like a prisoner and more like a draft left unfinished, a sketch in pencil waiting to be erased by the first harsh...
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