The Distant Legend
The rain against the windowpane of the high-rise apartment was a steady, gray static, a sound that had become indistinguishable from the hum of the ventilation system. Arthur Penhaligon sat in the wingback chair, his hands resting on the arms, palms up, empty. He was a man who had spent forty years collecting secrets, not for profit, but for the sheer, cold pleasure of holding them. He was the...
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