The Golden Maze
The soup was cold, a thick, beige sludge that had coagulated in the bottom of the ceramic bowl, and Elias stared at it with the same detached, heavy-lidded focus he had once reserved for reading topographic maps in the field, his fingers resting on the rim of the bowl as if testing its temperature, his breath misting in the sterile, recycled air of the infirmary wing where the silence was not...
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