The Golden Circuit
The rain fell in sheets, heavy and cold against the glass of the observation deck. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood by the porthole. His reflection stared back. It was not his face. It was a mask of static. White noise. The city below was a grid of dying lights. Chicago, 1893. The year of the World’s Columbian Exposition. The year the white city burned. The city above was not white. It was grey. It...
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