The Distant Nightmare
The rain did not fall; it struck. It hammered against the reinforced glass of the penthouse office, a relentless, gray drumming that matched the pulse in Sergeant Elias Thorne’s temples. He stood by the window, his back to the room, watching the city lights blur into streaks of amber and red below. The air in the room was stale, thick with the scent of expensive mahogany and the faint, metallic...
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