The Faded Alibi
The ink on the page had begun to weep, a slow, viscous bleed that turned the precise, confident lines of Elias Thorne’s topographical survey into a murky, indistinct smear, and as he wiped the moisture from his spectacles with a handkerchief that smelled faintly of camphor and old paper, he realized that the fog was not merely outside the window but inside the room, settling into the crevices...
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