The Wistful Skyline
The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the city, a thick, grey breath that clung to the windows of the tenement room like a second skin. Elias stood before the glass, his forehead pressed against the cold pane, watching the skyline of London dissolve into a smudge of charcoal and wet wool. He was a man who had crossed an ocean not to escape the past, but to bury it, yet the past had...
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