The Golden Oath
The static tasted of copper and old blood on Maaike Bosch’s tongue, a metallic tang that coated the back of her throat as she pressed her palm against the humming wall of the Sector 7 corridor. She needed the medical clearance for her daughter, Elise, before the shift ended, but the architecture around her was failing, the non-Euclidean angles of the detention center shifting like bad bones,...
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