The Golden Scar
The needle slid into the vein of his daughter’s wrist with a resistance that felt less like skin and more like dry parchment tearing, and Elias Thorne held his breath until the golden liquid inside the glass vial was empty, watching the color rush back into Lily’s cheeks like blood returning to a field after a long drought. He had stolen the vial from the Bureau of Atmospheric Control’s secure...
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