The Golden Suspect
Ravi Iyer stood in the rain outside the magistrate’s office, his hand trembling as he clutched a letter of dismissal, the paper slick and soft against his palm. What stood against him was the crushing poverty that had stripped his dignity, but the single uncanny element was the persistent, warm pulse he felt in his left hand, a sensation that defied the cold air and the wet wool of his coat. It...
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