The Golden Suspect
The tin cage sat on the kitchen table, its wire bars cold against Elias Thorne’s thumb. He counted the seconds between the canary’s notes, a rhythmic clicking that matched the tick of the wall clock. Three, four, five. The bird sang in a minor key, a low, grinding sound that felt like sand in a gear. Elias had held the cage for six years, ever since the mail routes in the county began to bleed...
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