The Golden Scar
The plaster in Dormitory Block C was white, sterile, and alive. Elias Thorne, Warden of the Eastern Wing, stood before his desk, his hand hovering over the seam where the wall met the floor. It shimmered, a hairline fracture filled with a light that pulsed like a vein. He knew the rule, written in the small print of his contract that no one else seemed to read: the house absorbs guilt. If you...
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