The Wistful Skyline
The rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, gray mist that clung to the windows of the high-rise office on the forty-second floor of the Meridian Corporate Tower, blurring the city below into a watercolor smear of steel and glass. Arthur Penhaligon sat in his leather chair, the one with the worn armrest that had been smoothed by decades of anxious hands, and stared at the monitor...
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