The Last Fire at the Halo
The city never slept, which meant nobody really slept either. You just closed your eyes for different lengths of time and pretended it was the same thing. Thomas Delaney sat at his desk in a studio that was really just a converted storage room above a laundromat on East Thirty-Sixth, watching the steam rise from a cup of coffee that had gone cold twenty minutes ago. Outside, the city was doing...
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