The Golden Scar
My hand was shaking, not from the cold, but from the vibration of the wall itself, a low-frequency thrum that I felt in my teeth before I heard it in the air. I pressed the stylus of my compliance log against the paper, the ink bleeding slightly as the metal groaned, and I tried to make my handwriting look steady, to look like the hand of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. I was Elias...
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