The Golden Suspect
I dreamt of the weight of the iron, a cold, dense thing that did not exist in the waking world but pressed against my sternum with the absolute, crushing fidelity of a physical truth, as if the air in the small, windowless gymnasium had thickened into a liquid medium that resisted every expansion of my lungs, and I stood there, suspended in a twilight that was neither day nor night, holding the...
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