The Golden Scar
The white of the Reclamation Ward was not a color but a frequency, a high-pitched hum that settled in Elias Thorne’s teeth. He stood alone in the corridor, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the steam rise from the floor grates. It was 1924, and the air smelled of ozone and antiseptic, a sterile void that felt less like a hospital and more like the inside of a machine. Elias wanted his...
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