The Wistful Skyline
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray sheet that blurred the windows of the holding cell into a smear of wet concrete and distant sodium lights. Elias Thorne sat on the metal bench, his knees drawn up to his chest, his hands wrapped around a small, battered wooden box that had once been a keepsake from a war he no longer remembered fighting. He was a large man, built for...
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