The Golden Scar
The dream was always the same. A corridor of black marble stretched into an infinite, humming dark. At the end, a door of polished brass stood ajar. Behind it, a light so pure it felt like a wound. Julian Thorne woke with the taste of copper in his mouth, the phantom weight of a rifle still resting against his shoulder. He was a Senior Inspector in the Ministry of Civic Harmony, a title that...
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