The Wistful Skyline
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the old district into slick, black mirrors that reflected the gaslight in trembling, golden pools. It was a heavy, industrial rain, the kind that seeped into the marrow and rusted the hinges of doors that had not been opened in years. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the center of the town square, his coat heavy with water, his...
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