The Wistful Ashes
The rain fell in sheets against the glass of the observation deck. It was a gray, industrial drizzle that turned the streets of Oakhaven into a smear of mud and rust. Elias Thorne stood by the window, his back to the room. He did not blink. The city below was a labyrinth of smokestacks and iron bridges, a beast that breathed coal dust and exhaled steam. For ten years, he had been a detective...
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