The Golden Suspect
The fire starts in the basement, a small, hungry thing that eats the dark. It is 1893. The air in the Millbrook Textile Works is thick with cotton dust, a suspension of white ghosts that settles on your eyelashes and coats the back of your throat. You are Elias Thorne, a man of thirty-four years who has spent twenty of them bending over a loom, his fingers calloused into hard, unyielding...
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