The Golden Suspect
The dream came not as a vision but as a fracture, a sharp, jagged line splitting the bronze face of the Great Bell in the tower of Ashworth. Elara woke with her hands trembling, the fever that had plagued her for three weeks burning in her blood like quicksilver. She was thirty-two, a mason’s apprentice of seven years, and she knew with a certainty that bypassed logic that the alloy was wrong....
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