The Faded Alibi
The rain had not stopped in three days, a persistent, gray sheet that blurred the edges of the city and turned the sidewalks into rivers of brown sludge. I stood in the center of the fourth-floor conference room of the Department of Internal Affairs, my shoes soaking through, my chest heaving not from exertion but from the sudden, violent recoil of my own identity. The room smelled of wet wool...
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