The Faded Alibi
The rain fell like nails. Thin, cold steel driving into the mud of the Appalachian foothills. Elias Thorne walked. His boots were heavy. The leather was cracked. It smelled of old blood and wet ash. He carried a satchel. Inside was a rifle. It was his father’s. The metal was cold against his hip. He did not check the chamber. He knew it was empty. He had cleaned it three times that morning. The...
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