The Golden Scar
The kiln failed at three in the morning, a catastrophic shudder of heat and ceramic dust that turned the air in the foundry into a thick, sulfurous fog. Elias Thorne did not flinch. He simply closed his eyes, counting the seconds of the explosion in his mind, a rhythmic metronome that soothed the jagged edge of the alarm. When he opened them, the room was silent save for the hiss of cooling...
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