The Golden Suspect
The dream was always the same, a recurring fever that settled in the marrow of Sergeant Major Elias Thorne’s bones. In the sleep, he stood in a field of ashen wheat, the stalks whispering secrets of rot and decay, while a golden coin spun on its edge in the mud before him, refusing to fall, refusing to land, a perfect, impossible suspension of time and weight. He woke often to the smell of damp...
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