The Faded Alibi
The ledger lay open on the oak desk, its spine cracked like dry skin, and the silence in the room was not empty but heavy, a physical weight pressing against my eardrums. I adjusted my spectacles, the lenses fogging slightly in the sudden chill that had settled into the Whispering Wing, and looked at the date stamped on the final page: October 14, 1924. Three names. Three dates of...
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