The Golden Suspect
The dream began, as it always did in those final, feverish weeks, with the smell of wet earth and the crushing weight of a single, golden leaf resting against the left side of Elias Thorne’s chest, heavy as a lead coin, warm as a living tongue, pulsing with a rhythm that was not his own. He was lying in the soil of the orchard behind the mill, the roots of the old apple trees tangling around...
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