The Golden Suspect
The ink was still wet on the page when the Magistrate’s gavel struck the oak table, a sound that seemed to crack the air in the tribunal hall. Elias Thorne, forty years old and a scribe of the Guild for twenty-two of those, held the ledger up with hands that trembled not from fear but from the sheer, physical weight of the truth he had finally dared to pin to the world. The document was simple,...
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