The Faded Alibi
The numbers are wrong again, aren't they? You look up from the ledger, the quill still wet in your hand, and find Director Vane standing by the door. He is holding a cup of tea that steams in the cold air of the archive room. The light from the high windows is thin and gray, filtering down through the dust motes that hang suspended in the stillness. You have been working for six hours. Your...
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