The Faded Alibi
The train hissed into the station at Ashworth, a low, mournful exhalation that seemed to shake the very bones of the iron platform. Margaret Holloway stepped down, her heels striking the wet cobblestones with a sharp, rhythmic finality. She carried a single valise, worn at the edges, and in her coat pocket, a small, glass vial. It contained a substance of deep, viscous amber, thick as tree sap...
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