The Golden Crossing
The bone in his right forearm did not belong to him, a fact that the medical corps had failed to note in their crisp, sanitized reports, which is why the pain was not a sharp, acute signal of damage but a low, humming frequency that resonated in the marrow, a vibration that had become the baseline against which he measured the quality of his existence. Elias Thorne sat in the high-backed chair...
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