The Golden Scar
The ink was still wet on the final column of the ledger when Elias Thorne felt the first strand of white creep through his dark hair. He touched the back of his neck, the skin there gritty with dried sweat and the faint, metallic taste of the city’s air. It was a small thing, a single thread, but in the dim light of the scribe’s office, it looked like a crack in a porcelain plate. "You’re...
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