The Golden Scar
The brass key in my hand was heavier than it looked, a dense, cold weight that seemed to anchor my wrist to the floor of the basement. I am Elias Vane, Senior Archivist, and I am writing this from the sub-levels of the Ministry of Memory, where the air tastes of ozone and stale paper. The date is October 14, 2041, and the annual purge begins at dawn. I have come down here to retrieve one file:...
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