The Golden Mirror
Act I Who keeps the key when the door is already open? I asked Mateo this as he handed me the data-core, his fingers stained with the red dust of the mine. He didn’t answer. He just looked at the seeds in my satchel, viability falling, and spat on the floor. The smell hit me before the sight: ozone, wet wool, and the copper tang of the border fence. It was the dry cold that preserved...
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