The Wistful Witness
The rain hits the cobblestones with a sound like breaking bones. You stand on the bridge. Below you, the river is black and still. It holds the city’s reflection, a jagged mouth of stone and iron. You are not afraid. You are only tired. Your name is Thomas. You were a soldier once, in the wars that ended before you were born. Now you are a keeper of the peace. A constable. You wear the blue...
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