The Golden Scar
The room smelled of antiseptic and old paper, a scent that had seeped into the pores of Elias Thorne’s skin over the last decade. He stood before the desk of High Commissioner Arthur Vane, his hands clasped behind his back to hide their trembling, while Vane tapped a stylus against a stack of transfer forms with rhythmic, indifferent precision. Elias wanted a transfer to the Outer Districts, a...
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