The Golden Scar
The morning shift at the Ministry of Agricultural Reclamation began with the smell of wet chalk and old paper, a scent that had permeated the wool of Elias Thorne’s coat until it was part of his very skin. He stood before the great oak desk in the sub-basement of the Ministry, the fluorescent lights humming a low, indifferent drone that vibrated in his teeth. On the desk lay the object that had...
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