The Golden Suspect
The train rattled north into the grey dawn, a steel beast groaning against the iron tracks. I sat in the corner of the third-class carriage, my uniform still stiff from the morning inspection. Beside me on the seat lay the brass compass, its lid cracked, its needle trembling with a faint, erratic pulse. It was not a standard issue. It was my grandfather’s. It had guided me through the mud of...
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