The Golden Ritual
The scepter broke. Kalsom Rusli, thirty-two, a guard who owed the firm a mortgage that swallowed his wages whole, stood in the throne room when the golden rod snapped against the marble floor. Shards of gold, hot and sharp, scattered across the tiles, and Kalsom moved not to the King, but to Amina, his twelve-year-old daughter, shielding her face with his forearm as if the metal were splinters...
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