The Golden Oath

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2026-08-20 16:17:02 -

The Golden Oath

The iron bars of the holding cell were cold against your forearms. You pressed your palms flat against them, feeling the rust bite into your skin. It was a sharp, metallic taste in the back of your throat. You had not tasted iron in years, not since the mud of the trenches turned to slush and the smell of cordite replaced the scent of rain. Now, the air in this basement room under the police...

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