The Golden Suspect
It was not the heat that bothered you, but the sound. A low, wet hum, like a pipe left running in a house that had been empty for years. You pressed your thumb against the clay. It was warm. Not warm like a stone in the sun, but warm like skin. You were Elias, thirty-two, a junior archivist in the Ministry of Antiquities, and you wanted only to keep your job. You wanted the quiet safety of the...
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