The Golden Suspect
The water in the Blackwood shaft was not just cold; it was a physical weight, a heavy, black blanket that pressed against your ribs and squeezed the last of the air from your lungs, which had already been ground down to powder by twenty years of coal dust and the slow, relentless rot of the earth. You stood in the center of the flooded pit, Sergeant Elias Thorne, your boots sinking into the...
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