The Golden Scar
"Did you think I’d let you walk away clean, Elias?" The question hangs in the air, thick and greasy, smelling of ozone and old copper. You are lying on a slab of cold steel, the hum of the ventilation system vibrating through the metal into your bones. Your chest feels hollowed out, scraped raw. In the dream, before the waking, you had seen it: a golden scar, a jagged line of light across your...
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