The Faded Alibi
The rain did not fall so much as it besieged the windowpane of the third-floor office, a relentless, gray curtain that erased the distinction between the inside of the room and the storm outside. Elias Thorne sat at the desk, his back straight as a ruler, his hands resting on the mahogany surface, palms open and empty. He was a man composed of angles and shadows, his face a map of lines that...
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