The Golden Scar
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, persistent mist that settled into the wool of Elias Thorne’s coat and the pores of his skin, a dampness that smelled of wet slate and old iron. He sat in the narrow office that the City Council had graciously granted him, a room that served as both his study and his prison, the walls lined with the spines of medical texts that were...
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