The Wistful Skyline
The rain did not fall so much as it existed, a suspended particulate of grey that coated the shoulders of Sergeant Major Elias Thorne as he walked the perimeter of the estate, a rhythmic, heavy silence that was less a lack of sound than a dense, physical pressure against his eardrums. He was a man constructed of rigid angles and quiet endurance, his uniform pressed to a severity that seemed to...
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