The Golden Suspect
The leather strap of the service record was cut, the frayed end dangling like a dead root in Elias Thorne’s hand. He held it up to the low, grey light of the magistrate’s office, where the dust motes hung still in the air. The parchment was stained with sweat and old blood, a physical proof of twenty years of duty that meant nothing to the man sitting behind the heavy oak desk. Magistrate Alder...
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