The Golden Suspect
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended curtain of grey water that turned the cobblestones of the lane into dark, reflective pools. Elara Vance walked with her head bowed, her shoulders hunched against the damp chill that seeped through the thin wool of her shawl. She carried no basket, for there was nothing left in the market to buy, and she carried no coin, for the winter had...
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