The Faded Guest
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a thick, grey curtain that erased the distinction between the cobblestones of St. Jude’s Lane and the wet asphalt of the main thoroughfare, blurring the city into a single, breathing entity of steam and rust. Elias Thorne sat on the edge of the cold iron bench outside the abandoned textile mill, his hands resting in his lap, fingers intertwined in a...
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