The Faded Alibi

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2026-08-20 02:11:37 -

The Faded Alibi

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and old sweat. It was a smell that clung to the wool of the coats, to the hair of the guests, to the very air that hung heavy and still above the long tables. Elias Thorne sat at the far end, his hands folded on the white tablecloth. He was a man of books, of quiet margins and ink-stained fingers, but tonight he was a man of noise. The hall was a...

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