The Wistful Show
The rain had not stopped in three days, a steady, gray curtain that turned the streets of the industrial district into slick, black mirrors. Inside the high-ceilinged office of the Ministry of Internal Consistency, Elias Thorne sat alone with a small, leather-bound case. He was a man of fifty, with a face that had been weathered by decades of looking for things that did not want to be found....
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