The Faded Alibi
The banquet hall smelled of roasted lamb, stale beeswax, and the particular, metallic tang of fear that settles in the air before a storm breaks, a scent that clung to the velvet drapery and the polished mahogany tables where the officers of the garrison sat in rows, their faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight that danced like nervous spirits across the gold leaf of the chandeliers....
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