The Faded Alibi
The oak tree at the edge of the Whitmore property had shed its last leaf three weeks before the frost set in, and now it stood as a skeleton of black branches against the pale, indifferent sky. Elias stood on the porch, his hands resting on the wooden railing, feeling the grain of the wood beneath his gloved fingers. It was a rough texture, familiar and grounding, yet it offered no comfort for...
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