The Shadow Scale
The rain in the ruins of Manhattan didn't fall; it clung. It was a grey, oily mist that tasted of old copper and forgotten sins. Elias stepped over a rusted girder, his boots crunching on the glass of a thousand broken dreams. He was the last Macro, a walking mountain of meat and bone in a world that had moved on to a smaller, sharper game. He didn't know it, but he was being watched. From the...
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