The Pale Echo
The rain did not fall so much as it hung. It suspended itself in the grey air above the city, a fine, cold mist that tasted of iron and old stone. Elias stood on the platform. He wore a coat that had once been black but was now the color of dried mud. His hands trembled. Not from the chill. From the weight of the thing in his pocket. A key. Brass. Heavy. It dug into his palm like a tooth. He...
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