The Golden Scar
"You’re late," the clerk said, his voice flat and dry as the dust that coated the ledgers on his desk. "The window for appeals closed at noon, Mr. Thorne. The system does not pause for engineering delays." I stood in the corridor of the Bureau of Allocation, the cold biting through my thin wool coat, and realized that the floor beneath my feet was vibrating, a low, rhythmic thrum that seemed to...
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