The Faded Alibi
The tribunal summons arrived at dawn, stamped with the seal of the County Constabulary, the ink still wet and smelling of iron and wet earth. You stood in the center of the hallway of the Thorne estate, the floorboards groaning under your boots, and watched the black script crawl up the wallpaper like mold. Elias Thorne, forty-two, veteran constable, wanted only to speak, to explain, to prove...
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