The Golden Circuit
The scratching in the ventilation shafts of the Blackwood Penitentiary is not a rat, Sergeant, and I need you to understand that before Thomas arrives, for the sound is a rhythmic, dry scraping against the metal ductwork that mimics the rhythm of a human fingernail picking at the skin of the skull, a noise that has eaten through my sleep and my sanity since the morning I was assigned to this...
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