The Golden Oath
The rain in Seattle did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the city into a mirror of its own decay. Elias Thorne stood on the corner of Fourth Avenue, watching the pedestrians hurry past, their umbrellas blooming like dark, temporary flowers in the gray drizzle. He was a man who had learned to be invisible, a clerk in the accounts payable department of a mid-sized...
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