The Faded Alibi
The rain on the roof of the carriage was a relentless, metallic drumming, a sound that seemed to drill directly into the bones of Elias Thorne. He sat in the corner, his knees drawn up, his hands resting on his lap with a stillness that belied the tremor in his fingers. Across the narrow aisle, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool, coal smoke, and the sour, metallic tang of fear. It...
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