The Pale Circus
The rain fell in sheets against the glass. Inside, the air smelled of damp wool and old paper. Elias sat in the corner booth. His hands were still. He held a silver coin. It was tarnished. The face on the coin was worn smooth. He turned it over. The back was blank. He looked at the door. Two men stood there. They wore suits. Dark. Heavy. They did not enter. They waited. Elias closed his eyes....
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