The Golden Suspect
The brass badge sat in Elias Thorne’s palm, cold and heavy as a dead coin. It was a standard-issue insignia for a senior customs inspector, the kind that had once signified authority and now felt like a shackle. The metal was worn smooth at the edges, polished by ten years of nervous thumbs, but the engraving was sharp. He turned it over, tracing the initials of the Department of Border...
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