The Golden Downtown
The air in the Bureau’s central command center was scrubbed clean of scent, a sterile white void that smelled faintly of ozone and recycled fear, and Elias Thorne stood at the center of it, his knuckles white around a small glass vial that contained the only thing left of his sister Clara. The intercom crackled, a sharp, static-filled hiss that cut through the silence, and the Director’s voice,...
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