The Golden Suspect
I was turning the escapement wheel when the wall inhaled. The sound was wet, a thick suction that pulled the air from my lungs. I froze, the tweezers trembling in my hand. Dust motes swirled in the shaft of grey light cutting through the Great Hall’s shattered window. My name is Senga Macara, though the foreclosure notice just called me "Tenant in Possession." I am thirty-two years old, a...
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