The Distant Wound
Silas. The name was not spoken, but it hung in the air of the ward, heavy and cold, a summons that bypassed the ears and struck the bones. He woke with the taste of copper and ash in his mouth, the phantom weight of a porcelain bowl shattering against his shins, the shards glinting like frozen teeth. The room was a cell of grey concrete and humming servers, the air kept at a sterile four...
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