The Wistful Ashes
The alarm did not ring. It hummed, a low-frequency vibration that rose through the soles of Kael Whitmore’s boots and settled in his teeth. In the sterile white corridor of the Border Enforcement Station in Ashworth, the hum meant a purge was imminent. Kael stopped walking. He looked down at his forearm. The Ash Mark, a jagged scar of grey ink that mapped his erased past, was fading. The lines...
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