The Golden Echoes
The rain in Sector Four didn’t wash things clean; it just made the grime slicker. Elias stood under the awning of the shuttered laundromat, his collar turned up against the chill that seeped through the damp wool of his coat. He wasn’t looking at the street. He was looking at the man stepping out of the black sedan, a man who looked like a shadow cut from a heavier fabric. "Late, Elias," the...
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