The Golden Master
The brass badge hung heavy in Elias Thorne’s palm, its weight a familiar anchor against the cold steel of the solitary confinement table. It was a Tuesday, the kind of gray, flat day that pressed down on the shoulders of the men in Block C, a day that made the air feel thick and expensive to breathe. Elias was forty-five, twenty-two years deep into the uniform, and in six months he would be old...
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