The Faded Alibi
The document in your hand is a ledger, bound in leather so worn it feels like dried skin under your fingertips, and you are trying to make sense of the arithmetic before the carriage wheels grind against the ruts of the muddy lane leading into Oakhaven. You are Elias Thorne, fifty-two, a magistrate who has spent thirty years measuring the world in fines, sentences, and the precise weight of...
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