The Golden Oath
The door closes behind you. Click. Lock engaged. You are in the house. The house is quiet. The air is still. Dust motes dance in the single beam of afternoon light. You stand in the hallway. You are a soldier. You are a guardian. You are a weapon. Your hands are steady. Your heart is a machine. It beats in a precise, cold rhythm. One. Two. Three. You hold the object. It is a vial. It is glass....
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