The Pale Verdict
The Inspector’s finger hovered an inch above the coin, a cold, bureaucratic needle pointing at the flaw in my work. My left hand, resting on the green baize of the desk, twitched. It was a small thing, a flutter of the thumb, but in the silent, dust-moted air of the Mint’s inspection room, it was a scream. "Again," the Inspector said. He did not look at me. He looked at the coin. "You are...
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