The Golden Suspect
Don’t touch the jar. Elias woke with the taste of copper and burnt sugar on his tongue, his fingers still curled around the phantom weight of glass. The dream had been vivid, a thick amber haze where he held a jar of golden syrup up to a light that wasn’t there, the liquid glowing like a trapped sun. He blinked, the grey morning light of the apartment seeping through the gap in the curtains,...
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