The Pale Path
The rain in Chicago did not fall so much as it materialized, a sudden, freezing mist that coated the windshield of the patrol car in a film of static, turning the neon bleed of the streetlights into smeared watercolors of bruised purple and sickly yellow. Sergeant Elias Thorne sat with his hands resting loosely on his knees, not gripping the steering wheel, for he knew that the tension in his...
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