The Golden Suspect
The rain had not stopped for three days, and the water turned the cobblestones of Millhaven into a slick, dark mirror that reflected the grey sky with an unsettling clarity. Elias Thorne walked with a heavy step, his boots creaking against the wet stone, each footfall a small confession of weight. He wore a coat of charcoal wool, worn thin at the elbows, and around his neck hung a chain of...
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