The Faded Alibi
Chapter One Did I choose the silence, or did the silence choose me? I ask myself this often, standing in the signal box of the old sardine cannery, watching the rain strip the paint from the levers. The weather radio promises a gale that has not yet arrived, but the air already tastes of salt and rust. I am forty-two. My name is Lucien Renard, and I am the night security for the museum of...
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