The Faded Photograph
The rain in Harrow’s Hollow did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended grey veil that turned the asphalt into a mirror of fractured lights. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood in the center of the intersection, his hand resting on the cold metal of his pistol, the weight of it a familiar anchor in the churning chaos of the night. Around him, the air tasted of ozone and wet dust, a metallic tang that...
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