The Faded Alibi
The chisel weighed four pounds, a solid block of steel that felt heavier in Elias Thorne’s hand than it had when he first lifted it from the cellar rack. He stood in the rotunda of his ancestral home, the air thick with the scent of wet limestone and old iron, and counted the seconds between the house’s heartbeats. One, two, three. The pulse was not a metaphor; it was a physical vibration that...
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