The Golden Scar
The rain did not fall so much as it was pressed against the glass by the weight of the atmosphere, a heavy, industrial drizzle that turned the streets of New London into a slick, reflective mirror of the grey city above. Inside the apartment, the air was still and tasted of stale coffee and old paper, a sterile vacuum where the humidity could not penetrate. Elias Thorne sat at his desk, the...
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