The Faded Alibi
The stamp came down with a crack that echoed off the water-stained ceiling tiles of the municipal archive. Elara Vance watched the ink blotch the header of the form, the black ink bleeding into the cheap copy paper like a bruise. It was 2:14 PM. The fluorescent tube above her desk flickered, casting a sickly, intermittent pallor over the rows of filing cabinets that stretched into the gloom of...
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