The Faded Alibi
The rain fell in sheets against the window of the library, a rhythmic, percussive tapping that seemed to count the seconds left in the day. Elias Thorne sat at his desk, the leather chair groaning softly under the weight of his exhaustion. He was a man of few words, a historian of obscure dialects, whose life had been measured in footnotes and the quiet dust of archives. But today, the air was...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen