The Golden Scar
The requisition form lay flat on the obsidian desk, its edges curling slightly in the dry, stagnant air of the Archivist’s office. Elias Thorne stared at the ink, which had not yet dried, spelling out his request for the extraction of the Golden Scar. He was thirty-four years old, and for the first time in his life, he did not want to file it, sign it, or stamp it. He wanted to tear it up. But...
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