The Golden Scar
Elias Thorne’s fingers were black to the knuckles, the dirt packed into the whorls of his skin as he twisted the brass lid off the jar. The honey inside glowed a faint, sickly amber, pulsing like a slow heartbeat in the dim light of the inspection booth. It was the last of the family stock, a substance that had kept his grandfather’s wounds from festering and now kept Elias’s hands from...
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