The Faded Masquerade
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray curtain that turned the streets of the old district into slick, dark mirrors reflecting the neon signs of the clinics and the security checkpoints. Elias Thorne stood at the end of the long corridor of St. Jude’s Behavioral Correction Facility, his hands resting on the worn leather of his belt, feeling the familiar, heavy comfort of the...
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