The Distant Whispers
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey curtain that blurred the boundaries between the street and the soul of the city. Inside the mahogany-paneled office, the silence was heavier than the storm outside, a physical weight that pressed against the temples of Eleanor Vance, who sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, the knuckles white as bone. Across the...
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