The Golden Suspect
The summons arrived at the stroke of dawn, a parchment scroll bearing the royal crest that smelled of wet wax and impending disaster, and Elias Vane, the King’s Master Engraver, unrolled it on his workbench with hands that trembled not from cold, but from the creeping, insidious fog that had begun to settle over his left eye three months prior. He was forty years old, a man who had carved the...
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