The Pale Echo
The rain does not fall so much as it is exhaled by the city, a cold, grey sigh that settles into the marrow of your bones and refuses to leave. You are a detective, or rather, you are what remains of a detective after the machinery of the law has ground your humanity down to a fine, gritty powder. You sit in the small, damp apartment on the fourth floor of a brick walk-up in the industrial...
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