The Pale Echo
The rain had turned the asphalt of the precinct parking lot into a mirror of gray slate, reflecting the flickering sodium lights with a dull, oily sheen. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood by the rear bumper of his unmarked sedan, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his charcoal overcoat, feeling the cold seep through the wool and settle into the marrow of his bones. Inside the building, the...
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