The Faded Alibi
The ink was wet. That was the first thing Arthur noticed, a slick, black smear on the bottom right corner of the ledger, spreading like a bruise under the skin of the paper. He held his breath, his fingers trembling slightly as he hovered over the page, afraid that the mere vibration of his pulse might disturb the fluid. The room smelled of dust and old wood, the air thick with the weight of...
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