The Golden Scar
The inspector stood in the doorway, his coat damp with the city’s persistent fog, and watched you pour the golden liquid into the glass. You did not look up. You were busy counting the drops, ensuring the dosage was precise enough to keep the tremors from Mara’s hands, but not so strong that it would wipe the last of her name from your mind. The air in the apartment tasted of rust and stale...
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