The Golden Suspect
The rain hammered against the single pane of glass in the corner office, a relentless, rhythmic drumming that seemed to vibrate through the very bones of the building, drowning out the distant hum of the city below and leaving only the sterile, recycled air of the precinct and the scent of stale coffee and old fear that clung to the fabric of your uniform like a second skin. You sat there,...
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