The Golden Oath
The ceramic shard bit into the meat of her palm before the glass did. Elara Vance did not scream. Screaming was for those who had something left to lose that wasn’t already dust. She stood in the center of the sterile white laboratory, the hum of the centrifuge in the corner vibrating through the soles of her boots, and watched the blood bead up on her skin. It was a dark, arterial red, stark...
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