The Wistful Skyline
The air in the basement of the municipal water treatment plant always tasted of rust and damp earth. It was a heavy, metallic taste that coated the back of the teeth and settled in the throat like a second skin. Elias Thorne knew this taste better than he knew the smell of his own daughter’s shampoo, better than the scent of the coffee that had gone cold in the mug on his desk three hours ago....
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