The Faded Alibi
The letter was thick, cream-colored, and smelled faintly of ink. Elias Thorne held it against the cold glass of the window, the paper trembling slightly in his grip as the train rattled toward the capital. It was a summons, not an invitation. He had to be at the Ministry of Records by nine o’clock to answer a charge of embezzlement. The accusation was absurd, a bureaucratic shadow cast by a man...
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