The Golden Suspect
The dream is always the same: a golden chalice burning in your hand, not with fire, but with a heat that feels like forgetting your own name. You wake in the narrow bed of your constable’s quarters in Oakhaven, the year 1348, the air thick with the smell of damp wool and the distant, rhythmic clanging of the blacksmith’s hammer. You are Thomas Bradshaw, thirty years old, a man who has spent a...
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