The Distant Nightmare
The rain against the windowpane was not merely water but a liquid accusation, a relentless, cold whisper that had been speaking since the dawn of the industrial age, a voice that knew the secrets of the brick and the mortar and the rotting wood beneath the skin of the city, a voice that Colonel Elias Thorne had tried to drown out with the rhythmic, mechanical pounding of his own heart which...
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