The Faded Alibi
The wind did not howl across the Kerguelen Plateau; it whispered, a low, sibilant sound like dry leaves scraping against the underside of a table, a sound that had worn the granite into soft, undulating shapes over millennia, and it was into this whispering void that Elias Thorne walked, his boots crunching on the frost-rimmed gravel with a rhythmic, deliberate cadence that seemed less like...
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