The Distant Affair
The rain came down in sheets, cold and relentless, blurring the boundary between the asphalt and the mud. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the intersection, his white shirt soaked through, clinging to his ribs like a second skin. He had dreamed of this rain. In the dream, it was warm. It was honey. It smelled of lavender and old paper. Now, in the gray dawn of a Tuesday in November, it was...
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