The Golden Scar
The elevator groaned as it ascended, a sound like a man clearing his throat before a cough that would not come. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the car, his hands pressed flat against the polished brass railing. He was fifty-two years old, and for the first time in twenty years, he felt the weight of his own bones. The Gilded Spire rose above the city like a needle threading the gray sky,...
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