The Golden Song
The sterile white light of the federal medical bay hummed with a frequency that Elias Thorne felt in his teeth. He woke to the sound of his own name being spoken, not by a doctor, but by a chorus of voices that seemed to emanate from the pores of his skin. He was a border patrol agent, thirty-four years old, and for the first time in his life, he could not move his left hand. It was fused to...
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