The Golden Ritual

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2026-08-22 15:02:52 -

The Golden Ritual

The brass brush in your hand is cold, heavier than it looks, a dead weight that pulls your shoulder down into the mud of your own spine. You scrub the cobblestones of the Plaza, the water turning brown, then black, then a slurry of rust and grime that smells of old pennies and wet stone. Halloway stands by the fountain, his hands clasped behind his back, watching you with the detached curiosity...

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