The Golden Suspect
The rain drummed against the skylight, a rhythmic, metallic tapping that filled the silence of the precinct. Elias Thorne sat in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. He was an old man now, though his badge still hung heavy on his belt. The metal had tarnished, pitted by years of sweat and handling. It was a physical thing, a cold weight against his hip. He ran his thumb over the...
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