The Faded Alibi
The light had failed an hour ago, yet the ridge still held a gray, stubborn brightness that made the shadows look like bruises on the earth. You stood at the edge of the Blackwood Ridge, the wind pulling at the hem of your wool coat, and you held the brass compass in your left hand, the one that still moved with a semblance of grace while your right hand trembled with a palsy that no physician...
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