The Faded Alibi
Elias. The name hung in the cold air of the foyer, spoken by no one, yet heavy enough to press against his temples. It was a summons from a past that had refused to die. Elias Thorne stood before the study door, his hand resting on the brass knob. The metal was cold, slick with the damp of the November morning. He was fifty-two, and his body felt like a tool left out in the rain, rusted at the...
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