The Pale Dance
The dream was not a vision of light, as one might expect from a man who had spent thirty years enforcing order in the gray sprawl of the city, but rather a slow, suffocating immersion into the cold, black water of the harbor, where the reflections of the streetlamps shattered into a million trembling, dying coins that refused to hold their shape. Detective Elias Thorne woke with the taste of...
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