The Faded Alibi
The damp of the cellar seeps into your bones, a cold that has nothing to do with the November air and everything to do with the rot of the city above. You are Elias, Inquisitor of the Third District, and you have spent three days watching the monk Julian die, his breath rattling in a chest that has grown too hollow for his skin. You need his confession, not for the Church, but for yourself; the...
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