The Golden Visit
The iron taste of blood coated my tongue before the first shot rang out. It was a cold, metallic tang that stuck to the roof of my mouth, heavier than the winter air. I was pinned behind a crate of coal in the loading dock. The fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and gray, swallowing the streetlights until they were just faint, dying eyes. I checked my pistol. The cylinder spun with a dry...
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