The Golden Suspect
The fire takes the roof first. Then the beams. You watch from the yard. You do not run. You hold the coat. It is wool. Heavy. Gold thread runs through the hem. A symbol of your rank. A symbol of your life. The heat is a wall. It pushes against your skin. Your name is Elias Thorne. You are the Keeper of the Archive. This is your record. The house burns. The books burn. Centuries of history turn...
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