The Golden Cellar
The wine is warm in the cellar, a thick, cloying sweetness that coats the back of your throat and settles in the pit of your stomach like a heavy stone. You are here because you have to be, because the case is yours, because the badge on your hip feels less like authority and more like a weight that is slowly crushing your ribs against the damp brick wall. The air smells of rotting grape skins...
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