The Faded Alibi

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2026-08-26 17:30:52 -

The Faded Alibi

I told the baker I had no coin. He looked at my hands, then at the loaf in my satchel, and shook his head. The village of Chamonix was a smear of grey stone against the white peak, and the wind coming off the glacier cut through my wool like a knife. I was Elias, forty-two years old, and I had walked for six days from the burning of Lyon. My son, Thomas, was in Geneva. He was nineteen, and he...

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