The Wistful Saga
The rain does not fall so much as it accumulates, a heavy, grey suspension that settles on the shoulders of the city like a burial shroud. You stand in the narrow hallway of the precinct, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and ozone, and you watch the water bead on the glass of the evidence locker. Inside, behind the reinforced pane, sits the object that has defined the last decade of...
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