The Wistful Saga
The rain against the windshield was a relentless, rhythmic tapping, a drumbeat that matched the hollow thumping in your chest. You sat in the driver’s seat of the unmarked sedan, the engine idling with a low, steady hum, watching the neon bleed of the city dissolve into the wet asphalt. It was a Tuesday, indistinguishable from any other Tuesday in the long, gray stretch of your career, but...
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