The Golden Crossing
The rain did not fall so much as it existed, a persistent, gray static that coated the streets of Chicago in a sheen of oil and exhaustion, turning the city into a mirror that showed nothing back but its own fatigue. Sergeant Elias Thorne walked with the heavy, rhythmic cadence of a man who had spent thirty years carrying the weight of other people’s fears, his boots striking the wet asphalt...
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