The Faded Alibi
Elias Thorne held the ledger in his hands, the leather cover cold and stiff against his palms. The book was small, bound in a dark material that had cracked with age, and it smelled of damp paper and iron. He sat at his desk in the town hall, the fluorescent lights humming a low, constant note above his head. For fifteen years, he had ignored the faint blue glow that emanated from the final...
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