The Pale Tower
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray curtain that turned the world outside the glass walls of the precinct into a watercolor smudge of indistinct shapes and muted tones, and inside, the air smelled of stale coffee, wet wool, and the particular, metallic tang of fear that seemed to cling to the linoleum floor no matter how hard they scrubbed it. Detective Elias Thorne sat...
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