The Wistful Silence
The rain in Chicago did not wash the city clean; it merely made the grime more fluid, allowing it to slide down the slate facades of the Loop in thick, ropy streams that caught the amber glow of the streetlamps. Elias Thorne moved through this wet, reflecting world with the deliberate, heavy pace of a man carrying a burden that weighed more on the soul than on the spine. He was a restorer of...
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