The Wistful Witness
The flood came without warning. It rose from the river like a gray wall of mud and debris, swallowing the lower town in minutes. Elias Thorne stood on the second floor of the police station, watching the water climb the brick steps. He did not run. He did not call for help. He simply watched. The door to his office was still open. His desk was dry, but the air smelled of wet earth and diesel....
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