The Golden Quest
The left hand held a coffee mug. The ceramic was chipped near the rim, a jagged white fault line in the brown glaze. Elias Thorne stared at the tremor, a fine, high-frequency vibration that made the liquid inside ripple against the surface. He was forty-five. He had twenty-two years on the force. The algorithm had flagged him. The letter from the Internal Affairs review sat on the kitchen...
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