The Faded Alibi
The court was cold, a damp chill that seeped through the wool of Elias Thorne’s doublet and settled in the marrow of his bones, but it was the silence of the High Court that cut deeper than the stone. He stood before the Magistrate, a man whose face was as smooth and impassive as a river stone, and waited for the verdict that had already been written in the ink of protocol. "You ask me to...
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