The Golden Oath
The banquet hall of the Ministry of Internal Accounts did not smell of food, but of ozone and burnt sugar, a cloying sweetness that coated the back of my throat. I stood in the corner, my tie knotted tight against a collar that felt like a noose, watching the senior clerks laugh over crystal glasses of amber liquid that seemed to shimmer with an inner, liquid light. The air was thick, not with...
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