The Golden Suspect
The gavel struck. The air in the chamber tasted of dust and iron. Julian stood. He was a small man. His coat hung loose. It was a heavy wool thing. It had been blue once. Now it was grey. It was worn thin at the elbows. The fabric whispered against his skin. It felt like a second skin. A cold one. He looked down. The floor was black marble. It reflected his face. The face was pale. The eyes...
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