The Golden Suspect
The golden coat hangs in the center of the cell, its fabric rippling in a wind that does not exist, and the hum it produces is a low, grinding vibration that settles in your molars and shakes the loose fillings you have refused to replace for three years. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a man who once cataloged the history of the city’s forgotten streets and now sits in the damp,...
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