The Distant Metropolis
The rain in Chicago did not fall so much as it pressed against the world, a gray, suffocating weight that turned the asphalt into a mirror for the broken skyline. Elias Thorne drove the patrol car through the industrial sprawl of the South Side, the wipers chopping a rhythmic, futile beat against the windshield. He was a man carved from the same hard, unyielding material as the precinct he...
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