The Golden Scar
Malachi, come down here. The voice boomed from the high gallery, a sound like a stone dropped into a well. You froze, the quill hovering over the ledger. The ink was still wet, a black tear in the parchment that looked less like a mistake and more like a wound. You are Elias. You are thirty-two years old, and your hands are shaking so badly that the parchment rattles against the oak desk. You...
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