The Faded Alibi
The cold settles in your bones first. It is a physical thing, a leaden weight that anchors you to the floor of the chapel. You are the Inquisitor. You are the hand that holds the scale. But today, the scale is broken. You look at the boy. His name is Thomas. He is twelve, perhaps thirteen. His knees are bare. The stone is freezing. He does not shiver. He has learned that shivering is a waste of...
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