The Distant Metropolis
The rain fell on the city of St. Jude’s not as water, but as a fine, grey ash that settled in the crevices of the skin and the hollows of the bones. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the precipice of the 42nd floor, his hand pressed against the cold, sweating glass of the window, watching the metropolis below pulse with a life that felt increasingly alien. He was a detective of the old school,...
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