The Golden Suspect
The mud on the cobblestones was black and slick, a testament to the relentless rain that had turned the city into a labyrinth of wet stone and gaslight. Elias stood in the center of the square, his chest heaving against the leather of his uniform, the brass buttons cold against his fevered skin. Around him, the air tasted of sulfur and fear. The crowd was a breathing wall of faces, pale and...
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