The Golden Echoes
The cough came first, then the taste, a sharp metallic tang like biting into a copper coin, spreading across the tongue with the inevitability of rust. I was counting the intake forms for Sector Four, thirty-two in total, each one stamped with the same red ink that had begun to look less like a mark of verification and more like a stain of blood. My hands were steady, but the air in the...
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