The Faded Alibi
The house breathes. You know it does. The walls expand in the heat of the afternoon sun and contract in the chill of the coming night, a slow, rhythmic pulsing that you have mistaken for life for years. You are here because you must be. You are the investigator, though you wear no badge, carry no notebook. You carry only the weight of your own silence and the fading ink of a letter that arrived...
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