The Faded Alibi
The rain had not stopped for three days. It slicked the cobblestones of Harrow’s End, turning the town into a gray, breathing organism. Elias Thorne stood at the threshold of the old municipal archive, his coat heavy with water. The building was a brutalist block of concrete and glass, a scar on the hills that overlooked the valley. It was not a place that invited warmth. It was a place that...
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