The Faded Photograph
The gavel struck the wood, a sharp crack that echoed in the small, dust-choked room of the sheriff’s office. You stood rigid, your hands clasped behind your back, watching as Sheriff Miller leaned forward to address the man in the defendant’s chair. The smuggler, a gaunt figure named Silas Vane, looked up with eyes that held no fear, only a weary, animal patience. Miller’s voice was low, a dry...
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