The Golden Suspect
The brass key in your hand is cold, the metal biting into the calluses of your palm as you turn it in the lock of the ward door. It is November, 1893, and the fog in Oakhaven sits low against the cobblestones, a grey wool that soaks into the wool of your coat and the leather of your boots. You are Elias Thorne, an archivist of forty-two years, and you have just been told by Dr. Aris that your...
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