The Faded Alibi
The rain was coming in sideways through the gaps in the shutters, a cold, slanting sheet that turned the cellar air into a damp, heavy fog. Elias Thorne stood before the oak table, his fingers trembling not from cold but from the weight of the leather-bound volume he had just lifted from the stone floor. It was the ledger, the so-called ghost book, and it was heavier than it had been an hour...
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