The Path of Shadows
The rain started just after midnight, that fine Los Angeles drizzle that doesn't so much fall as hang in the air like a second skin. I was sitting in my car outside a diner on Sunset Boulevard, watching the neon sign flicker—open, closed, open, closed—like the place couldn't decide if it wanted customers or not. Victor Lang had been walking the same route for eleven months. Every night at 11:47...
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