The Golden Crossing
The rain did not fall; it pressed. It was a heavy, grey weight against the window of the ambulance, blurring the world into a smear of mud and wet pine. I checked the gauge on the oxygen tank. Half full. I checked my watch. Three minutes to the ridge. My hands were steady. They were always steady. That was the job. You held the line when the world tried to break. Beside me, Elias slept. His...
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