The Faded Bouquet
The rain in Chicago did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended grey curtain that blurred the jagged edges of the skyline into a smudge of charcoal and rust, and Elias Thorne stood on the corner of Wabash and Adams, watching the water pool in the gutters, feeling the cold seep through the soles of his expensive Italian leather shoes, a sensation that was less about temperature and more about a...
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