The Distant Wound
The chisel bit into the wet concrete, and Elias Vane felt the familiar, gritty resistance of the Subterranean Reclamation Zone, a texture that had worn the skin of his palms down to raw, sensitive meat over the last twelve years. He was forty years old, though the fluorescent tubes of Sector 4 made him look older, and he worked not as the structural engineer he had once been, but as a low-level...
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