The Pale Echo
You are standing in the rain. It is not a gentle drizzle. It is a violent, gray curtain, blurring the streetlights into weeping halos. You are holding the key. It is cold, iron, biting into your palm. You are in the hallway of the old apartment building. The wallpaper is peeling. The floorboards groan under your weight. You are here to solve a mystery. Or so you tell yourself. The door is...
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