The Golden Suspect
The rain fell upon the roof of the manor in long, silver threads, a sound that had become the only music in the life of Silas Thorne. He sat in the high-backed chair by the cold hearth, his hands resting on the hilt of a sword that had not tasted blood in a decade. The house, once a seat of considerable wealth for the Thorne family, had shrunk around him. The carpets were threadbare, the...
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