The Faded Alibi
The brass buckle of Elara’s coat was the first thing to go, snapping away with a sound like a bone breaking in the silent, gaslit interrogation room. It clattered against the floorboards, a small, metallic scream that seemed to hang in the air long after it had settled. Elara stood in the center of the circle of chairs, her hands bound not by rope, but by the invisible, suffocating weight of...
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