The Golden Myth
The centrifuge spun at a pitch that vibrated in Elias’s teeth, a high-frequency hum that seemed to drill into the marrow of his skull as he watched the amber liquid settle into distinct layers. He was twenty-four, junior chemist, and his hands were steady only because he had learned to dissociate from his own body to survive the lab; his father, Marcus, stood behind him in a charcoal suit that...
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