The Distant Summer
The rain fell on the city like a grey shroud. It slicked the cobblestones of the old quarter, turning the air into a wet, heavy thing. Elias Vance walked with his head down. His boots struck the wet stone with a dull, rhythmic thud. He was a man of few words and fewer friends. The war had taken his voice as surely as it had taken his brother. Now he was a detective in the precinct, a ghost in a...
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