The Pale Verdict
"You're done, Elias," the Chief said. His voice was flat, stripped of inflection. It was the voice of a man describing the weather. Outside the glass partition of the office, the rain hammered against the windows of the precinct. It was a relentless, gray curtain, blurring the streetlights into halos of sickly yellow. I looked at my hands. They were resting on the steel table. The skin was...
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