The Golden Scar
The feast was not a celebration of life but a ritual of consumption, held in the vast, windowless banquet hall of Sector Four where the air smelled of ozone and stale, recycled lavender. Elias sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, his hands resting flat on the surface, watching the condensation bead on the glass of water before him. Around him, the other citizens of the District ate...
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