The Wistful Skyline
The rain against the windowpane was a rhythmic, wet applause, a sound that had become the only heartbeat in the study. You sat in the high-backed leather chair, the one that smelled of old pipe tobacco and the specific, dry dust of a decade’s worth of unopened files. Across from you, Elias sat with his hands clasped so tightly that the knuckles were white, a stark contrast to the pale, almost...
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