The Golden Scar
You are pressing your thumb into the wet clay of the archive floor, trying to wipe away the blood that has seeped from the cut on your palm, but the stain only spreads, darkening the grout like a bruise. The air in Vault 4 smells of ozone and old paper, a dry, choking scent that sits heavy in the back of your throat. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, and you have come here to steal a...
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