The Wistful Show
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended grey mist that clung to the wool of Elias Thorne’s coat and seeped into the marrow of his bones. He walked the ridge path, the landscape stretching out before him in a bruised twilight, the trees on either side stripped to their skeletal essence by the early winter. He was a man who sought truth in the architecture of silence, a detective...
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