The Golden Suspect
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s did not ring; it groaned, a low, tectonic vibration that traveled through the floorboards and into the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots. It was the sound of the city waking, or perhaps dying, the distinction having long since blurred in the minds of the few who remained. Elias stood in the center of the nave, his back to the altar, facing the congregation. They...
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