The Golden Oath
Soledad Zamudio kicked the rusted lock of the pharmacy window, the steel bar groaning under her boot, her breath hitching in the humid air. She was thirty-two, and the heatwave had turned the colonia into a kiln, the asphalt soft enough to leave the print of her bare feet if she walked too slow. The door was repaired with the wrong wood, a slab of pale pine that clashed with the dark cypress...
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