The Golden Scar
The mirror cracked along a vertical seam, splitting the reflection into two jagged halves that did not quite align. Elian stood before it, his breath fogging the cold glass, and watched the golden scar pulse down his throat, a line of molten metal that hurt with every swallow. The Bureau of Continuity did not allow marks; marks were errors, and errors were corrected, but this one was deeper...
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