The Wistful Show
The van smelled of stale diesel and the sharp, medicinal tang of lavender sachets that had long since lost their scent but kept their shape, a ghost of a fragrance clinging to the upholstery like a memory one could not quite shake. Sergeant Elias Thorne sat in the passenger seat, his hands resting on his knees, fingers drumming a frantic, arrhythmic beat against the denim of his trousers, a...
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