The Golden Suspect
The dream began with the smell of iron. Not rust. Not blood. Raw metal. Cold. I woke before I knew I was sleeping. The room was stone. Grey. Cold. I sat up. My hands were bound. Rope. Coarse. It bit into my wrists. I looked down. A tunic. White. Dirty now. I remembered the name. Edward Ashworth. I remembered the badge. The seal. I was the Warden. The Keeper of the Law. In this place, the Law...
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