The Golden Suspect

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2026-08-20 19:32:03 -

The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the high, arched windows of the Abbey, a relentless, rhythmic beating that sounded less like water and more like the fingers of the dead tapping out a code. I sat in the scriptorium, the air thick with the smell of damp stone and old ink. My name is Silas, and I am a keeper of words, a scholar of the old tongues, a man who believed...

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