The Faded Alibi
The rain fell upon the cobblestones of the capital with a persistence that felt less like weather and more like judgment. It was a cold, grey drizzle that seeped through the wool of Sir Julian Thorne’s traveling cloak, chilling the bones of his left side. He had walked for three days from the borderlands, his boots heavy with mud, his breath forming small, fleeting clouds in the stagnant air of...
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