The Faded Alibi
The ink in the ledger was still wet when I counted the coins, thirty-two shillings and sixpence, enough for the grocer’s bill but not enough for the silence that had settled over the east corridor. I am Elias Thorne, forty years old, and I have spent the last decade serving as the archivist of the Blackwood Estate, a role my father bequeathed to me with the solemnity of a last will and...
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