The Golden Suspect

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2026-08-20 01:54:14 -

The collar sat high. Too high. It pressed against the base of my neck, a constant, silent weight. I looked in the mirror. The glass was warped. My face looked small. Fractured. I wore the blue wool. It was my father’s. The fabric was thin. Worn soft by years of use. By his hands. By my hands now. I had not washed it. It smelled of dust. Of old tobacco. Of something else. Something dark. I...

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