The Faded Alibi
The fire did not roar; it whispered, a dry, skeletal rustling that seemed to peel the skin from the night air itself. Aldous Vane sat on the edge of the broken bridge, his boots dangling over the black water of the River Ouse, and watched his livelihood dissolve into embers. The structure, once a sturdy thing of oak and iron that had carried wool and grain for three generations, was now a...
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