The Golden Suspect
The fire started in the boiler room at dawn. It was not a small fire. It ate the timber beams with a hungry, wet sound, turning the air thick and black. Elias Vane stood on the platform, watching the smoke curl into the grey sky. He did not run. His legs felt heavy, as if they were made of the same iron as the tracks beneath him. The station was empty, save for the flickering shadows of the...
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