The Faded Alibi
The rain in Edinburgh did not fall so much as it hovered, a grey curtain drawn tight against the high windows of the Old Town residence, blurring the view of the castle into a smudge of stone and mist. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of beeswax and old paper, a preservation of time that felt less like history and more like a held breath. Elias Thorne sat in the leather armchair by the...
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