The Golden Scar
Thorne. The summons came not as a voice but as a vibration in the floorboards, a low thrum that traveled up through the soles of Elias’s boots and settled in his teeth. He stood in the center of his workshop, surrounded by the scattered anatomy of a hundred dead seconds, and felt the weight of the silence pressing against his eardrums. The air smelled of ozone and old brass, a scent that had...
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