The Golden Suspect
The fire had not started in the hearth, nor in the kitchens, nor in the hayloft, but in the very marrow of the archive, a slow, chemical burning that smelled of sulfur and old vellum. Master Aldous Vane, the Keeper of the Library at St. Jude’s, stood before the great oak doors that had not been opened in forty years, his hands trembling not from the heat, but from the terrible, cold certainty...
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