The Wistful Letter
The rain did not fall so much as it was ejected from the sky, a high-velocity spray that turned the cobblestones of Blackwood Hollow into slick, black mirrors. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the precipice, his trench coat soaked through to the bone, watching the water cascade over the cliff face. He was not a man who feared death, only the inefficiency of it. As the Chief Investigator for...
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