The Wistful Saga
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a fine, persistent mist that clung to the wet asphalt of the precinct’s parking lot and the heavy wool of Detective Elias Thorne’s coat. He stood with his back to the cold brick wall, his hand resting on the holster of his sidearm, watching the entrance of the station. Inside, the fluorescent lights hummed a low, electric hymn, a sound that had...
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