The Faded Chronicle
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed a relentless, rhythmic tattoo against the glass of the precinct window, blurring the neon signs of the city into long, weeping streaks of pink and blue. Inside, the air smelled of stale coffee and ozone, a scent that had long since seeped into the fabric of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s uniform. He sat at his desk, his hands resting flat on the...
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