The Faded Alibi
The shadow at my heel had grown heavy by the time the autumn frost turned the cobblestones of the Ironworks Palace into a slick, grey mirror, a weight that pressed against my ankle bones like a wet sack of coal, marking me not as a boy named Elias seeking refuge from my father’s debt, but as an anomaly that the rigid machinery of the state could not digest. I stood before the great iron gates,...
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