The Wistful Voyage
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a heavy, gray curtain that smelled of wet concrete and ozone, wrapping the city in a suffocating embrace that felt less like weather and more like a slow, creeping illness. Detective Elias Thorne stood on the precipice of the unfinished forty-second floor, his boots gripping the slick steel grating as the wind tore at his heavy coat, whipping...
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