The Golden Master
The first syllable of the name, spoken not by the voice of the dead but by the trembling, wet, and utterly unashamed mouth of the traitor, hung in the sterile, humming air of the evacuation corridor like a splinter of bone lodged deep in the throat of the world. It was a sound that possessed no volume, no pitch, and no semantic weight in the conventional sense, yet it registered in the auditory...
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