The Faded Alibi
The house was breathing. That was the only way Margaret could describe it, the way the drywall exhaled a faint, warm dust that settled on the silver of her service pistol. She stood in the center of the living room, the floorboards creaking under the weight of her fatigue. The air smelled of ozone and old rain, a scent that clung to the curtains like a ghost. She had been awake for three days,...
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