The Faded Alibi
The rain slicked the pavement in front of the Bureau of Anomalous Records, turning the gray stone into a mirror that reflected nothing but Elias Thorne’s own hollowed face. He stood under the awning, water dripping from the brim of his hat, watching the heavy oak doors swing open and shut with the rhythmic indifference of a heartbeat. For ten years, this building had been a prison of paper and...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews