The Faded Alibi
The ledger was heavy, its cover warped by decades of damp, the leather peeling away from the spine like dead skin. Elias held it in both hands, the weight of it a strange comfort in the cold air of the basement storage, where the air tasted of wet stone and old paper. He was forty years old, a junior clerk in the County Archive, and he had come here not to read history, but to kill a lie. The...
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