The Wistful Skyline
I woke with the taste of copper and rain in my mouth, the sensation so sharp it felt less like a memory and more like a physical bruise on the tongue. I was lying in the narrow cot of my temporary office, the one they had assigned to me after the reassignment, a small window overlooking the gray, sludge-thick river that bisected the city. The water moved with a sluggish, oily persistence,...
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