The Solar Gambit
The rain in Manhattan didn't wash things clean; it just moved the grime from one alley to another. Elias Sterling sat in a dimly lit booth at a diner in Hell's Kitchen, staring at a plate of cold eggs. He wore a trench coat that had seen better decades and a look of profound boredom that masked a mind running ten thousand simulations a second. Above the smog, the Devourer was a bruise on the...
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