The Golden Maze
You hold the jar. It is warm in your palms. The glass is thick, amber-stained. Inside, the substance swirls. It is thick. It is golden. It smells of burnt sugar and old blood. You are in the kitchen. The light is low. The shadows are long. You are a soldier. You are a cop. You are both. You are one. Your uniform is folded on the chair. The buttons are brass. They shine. You take them off. One...
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