The Wistful Skyline
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended gray curtain that erased the line between the street and the sky, turning the city into a watercolor left out in the damp. Elias Thorne sat in the corner of the booth, his coat soaked through, the fabric stiffening against his ribs like a second, colder skin. Across from him, the table was bare save for two mugs of tea that had long since...
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