The Golden Ritual
The sound began in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s left hip, a low, thrumming resonance that felt less like pain and more like a bell being struck in a distant, hollow room. He stood in the center of the vast, sterile atrium of the Bureau of Standardized Conduct, his posture rigid, his hands clasped behind his back, waiting for the morning inspection to commence. The air here was recycled,...
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