The Golden Oath
The bus groaned against the weight of the passengers as it climbed the steep, rain-slicked hill toward the Spire, a monolith of glass and steel that pierced the gray belly of the London sky. You sat in the back, your knees pressed against the plastic seat in front, your hands resting on the armrests with a stillness that seemed out of place in the shuffling, anxious crowd. Your hands were the...
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