The Golden Scar
The hand was broken. Not shattered. Not torn. Worn. Like a stone in a river. Smooth. Dull. Cassian held it up. Light caught the knuckles. The skin was thin. Translucent. Veins mapped the surface. Blue rivers under ice. He was the Inquisitor. He hunted the flaw. The Court of Ash waited. High towers of glass. Reflecting the grey sky. The air smelled of ozone. And old blood. Silence. Heavy....
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