The Pale Fracture
The ink on your wrist does not wash off. You scrub it with lye soap in the communal sink until your skin is raw and red, until the water runs pink, but the black script remains, etched deep into the dermis like a brand. It is a ledger mark, a binding agent used by the State to track assets, and it is the first sign that your life in Oakhaven has shifted from a routine of duty to a spiral of...
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