The Faded Alibi
"You ate the last of the honey cakes," you say, your voice rough with the grit of the road and the dust of centuries. "I saw you take them, Thomas. I saw the crumb fall on your tunic. I know you stole them from the child’s satchel." Thomas Bradshaw stands at the edge of the ravine, the wind whipping the tatters of his cloak around his legs. He does not deny it. He looks at you with eyes that...
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