The Golden Suspect
The dream came to Elias Vane not as a vision of light, but as a fracture in the dark, a splinter of glass embedded in the fabric of his sleep that bled a cold, golden light into the corners of his mind. He woke with the taste of iron and old honey on his tongue, the air of his workshop thick with the scent of linseed and the damp earth that always seeped up through the flagstones of the cellar...
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