The Distant Metropolis
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a persistent, gray mist that clung to the glass of the high-rise office on the forty-second floor, blurring the city below into a smear of neon and wet asphalt. Arthur Vane sat behind his desk, the leather worn thin from years of leaning forward, listening. He was a man who had spent the last decade of his life studying the architecture of...
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