The Faded Alibi
The clock on the wall of the holding cell ticked with the precise, metallic indifference of a timepiece that had long since ceased to care about the man staring at it. Elias Thorne sat on the steel bench, his hands resting in his lap, counting the seconds not as units of time but as coins being dropped into a jar that would never be full enough to buy back what he had lost. He was fifty-two...
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