The Pale Verdict
The blood on the fabric was old, a dried rust that crusted the collar of the prison-issue uniform hanging in your locker. You stood in the dim light of the break room, the fluorescent tube above flickering with a rhythmic buzz that seemed to sync with the pounding in your chest. This was not just a shirt; it was the exact garment your brother, David, had worn the night he walked into the river...
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