The Ritual of the Void
The river that bordered the Financial District of Manhattan was not a river so much as a drainage ditch for the city's ambitions. It was a grey, oily vein of water that reflected the towering glass monoliths of the banks and hedge funds, turning the sky into a series of fractured, metallic shards. Julian stood on the concrete pier, the wind whipping his thinning hair. He was wearing a bespoke...
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