The Golden Suspect
The river did not freeze. It never did. The water ran black and cold beneath the ice, a dark vein pulsing through the frozen flesh of the valley. Elara stood at the edge of the bank. Her boots sank into the slush. She looked up. The sky was a sheet of gray lead. It pressed down on the earth. There was no wind. The silence was heavy. It had weight. It sat on her chest. She breathed in. The air...
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