The Golden Quest
The coffee pot held exactly four cups, and I had drunk three by the time the clock struck four in the afternoon. The fourth cup was for the man in the cell, though he had not asked for it, and the steam rising from the dregs in the pot smelled of burnt bean and old iron, a scent that clung to the back of my throat like a second skin. I am Elias Thorne, Sergeant, and I have twelve years of...
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