The Golden Mirror
The dust in the hall of Blackwood Manor was thick enough to taste, a dry, chalky film that coated Elias Thorne’s tongue as he stood before the tarnished silver mirror. He was forty-two years old, a Detective Inspector with twenty years of service, and he held the glass with hands that trembled not from cold, but from the sheer weight of the name he had to clear. His want was simple and brutal:...
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