The Distant Wound

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2026-08-20 16:17:03 -

The Distant Wound

The champagne was cold, which was a sin in the eyes of the Upper Ring, but for Elias Thorne, it was a mercy. He stood at the edge of the ballroom, his tuxedo jacket feeling less like fabric and more like a second skin that had calcified into armor. Around him, the elite of New Boston swirled in a haze of synthesized perfume and polite malice. The air smelled of ozone and expensive rot. He...

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