The Golden Mirror
The rain did not wash the city clean; it merely polished the grime into a darker, more reflective sheen. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the intersection, his coat damp and heavy, watching the red tail lights bleed into the wet asphalt. He was a man of precise angles and quiet habits, a detective whose mind operated like a high-precision instrument, calibrated to detect the slightest...
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