The Faded Alibi
The air in the processing hall of the Sterling Textile Mill smelled of wet wool and iron filings, a metallic tang that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s throat before he had even finished his morning coffee. It was a Tuesday in late November, the kind of gray, slate-colored day that pressed against the factory windows like a heavy hand, blurring the view of the soot-blackened brickwork outside....
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