The Faded River
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a fine, gray mist that clung to the glass of the high windows. Julian sat alone in the corner of the grand salon, a room so vast and empty it seemed to swallow the sound of his breathing. He was a man of forty, though he looked older, his face carved by years of displacement and the quiet violence of survival. He wore a suit that had been fashionable...
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