The Faded Alibi
The banquet hall smelled of roasted pork and stale ambition, a thick, cloying scent that coated the back of my throat and settled deep in the lungs, turning the air into something heavy and difficult to breathe. I stood at the edge of the room, my uniform pressed tight against my ribs, the wool scratching at my skin like a persistent itch that no amount of scrubbing could soothe. Around me, the...
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