The Golden Suspect
Chapter One In San Miguel, the air tasted of burnt sugar and rust, a constant reminder that the land was both generous and cruel. Dolores Macías sat at her desk in the observatory’s midnight office, the tuning fork that had belonged to the old choir resting on the table beside her inkwell. She struck it against the wood, and the hum filled the small room, a pure, steady tone that vibrated in...
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