The Faded Alibi
The mules of San Isidro walked the dust in single file, their hooves striking the packed earth with a rhythmic dullness that echoed off the adobe walls, a sound so constant it had become the town’s pulse, indifferent to the curfew or the season. Ernestina Orozco sat on the back of her cart, her hands resting on the reins, the weight of the leather biting into her palms as she watched the line...
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