The Golden Downtown
The shrapnel in Marcus’s left lung had turned the air into a liquid, thick and tasting of copper and old pennies. He was running, though the concept of running seemed absurd given that his legs had not touched solid ground for three days. The sky above was not a sky at all, but a vast, inverted ocean of swirling violet clouds that churned with a slow, majestic indifference to the war below....
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