The Golden Suspect
The fire began in the thatch of the East Wing, a sudden, violent exhalation of orange and black that swallowed the dawn. It was not the gentle, creeping rot of damp timber, but a hungry, living thing that danced against the eaves of the Citadel of St. Jude’s. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the threshold of the Command Hall, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, watching the smoke curl into...
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