The Golden Scar
The train did not hum as it cut through the gray, industrial fog of the mid-Atlantic corridor, but rather screamed, a high, thin shriek of metal against metal that seemed to vibrate directly into the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones, a sound that felt less like transportation and more like a violent exorcism of the soul. He sat in the corner of the third-class carriage, his back pressed firmly...
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