The Golden Ritual
Do not pour it yet. I looked at the spoon. The metal was tarnished, a dull gray that matched the bruising on my wrist. "Tell me the protocol, Elias." I did not look up. I could not. The sun was dipping below the ridge line, turning the dust in the room into a suspended, golden haze. "There is no protocol," I said. "There is only the dose." Thomas sat on the edge of the cot. He was fifty-two,...
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