The Wistful Skyline
The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the grey, swollen belly of the sky, a perpetual, wet sigh that clung to the wet concrete of the processing center’s exterior like a second skin. Inside, the air was thick with the metallic taste of recycled oxygen and the low, hum of fluorescent lights that buzzed with the frequency of a dying insect. Detective Elias Thorne sat at the end of a...
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