The Golden Suspect
The ink bled through the parchment, a dark stain spreading across the page like a bruise. Siranush Karapetyan stared at the smear, her right hand trembling violently against the wood of the desk. The tremor had started three days ago, a subtle shake that had now become a violent spasm, ruining the delicate script she had practiced for twenty years. She was thirty-two, a scribe in the sealed...
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