The Golden Scar
The air in the Oakhaven Municipal Archives tasted of dust and impending judgment, a dry, metallic tang that coated the back of my throat as I stood before the towering oak shelves, my fingers hovering over the spine of a ledger dated 1894. I was thirty-two years old, a number that had suddenly become a liability, a ticking clock that Director Ashworth had begun to measure with the same cold...
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