The Golden Suspect
The hammer head was cold in Elias Thorne’s grip, the iron pitted and dark against his rough palms. He stood in the center of the town square, the mud sucking at his boots as the rain began to fall, a thin, grey sheet that blurred the edges of the world. Around him, the crowd had thinned, leaving only Magistrate Aldous and the blacksmith, a broad-shouldered man named Silas whose eyes held a...
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