The Wistful Skyline
The wool was thinning at the elbows, a translucent map of exhaustion spread across the grey fabric of Elias Thorne’s coat, and he pulled it tighter against the damp chill of the corridor, feeling the rough fibers scrape against his skin like a whisper he could not quite catch. He was not running, not exactly, though his breath came in short, sharp bursts that fogged in the air before him, and...
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