The Faded Road
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a fine, persistent mist that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into a mirror of wet slate, reflecting the gaslight in trembling, golden pools that seemed to breathe with the dampness of the evening. Silas Vane stood on the corner of Sycamore and 4th, his fingers wrapped tightly around the leather satchel at his hip, the knuckles white with a...
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