The Distant Garden
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the world and turned the streets of Harrowgate into muddy rivers. I stood at the window of the police station, watching the water drip from the eaves, and felt the weight of the uniform against my shoulders, a heavy, wet wool that smelled of dampness and old tobacco. Inside, the station was quiet, save...
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