The Faded Alibi
The ink on the file was still wet, a dark, viscous smear that had begun to bleed into the fibrous grain of the paper, creating a halo that looked less like a signature and more like a bruise. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood in the center of the precinct’s intake room, a space that smelled of stale coffee and the metallic tang of old fear, and he watched the drop. It was a small thing, a single act...
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