The Faded Alibi
Ignacio Serrano was a man who weighed forty-eight kilos of bone and duty, a scribe in the third year of his service to the Imperial Courier Station of the plateau, where the wind did not blow so much as it hammered the tarpaulins of the market stalls with a rhythmic, hollow thud that vibrated in the teeth. The station sat on a terrace carved into the bankrupt hills, a place where the air was so...
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