The Wistful Show
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended grey curtain that blurred the line between the cobblestones of the alley and the soot-stained brickwork of the warehouse, a place where the air tasted of wet wool, old copper, and the metallic tang of a silence that had been waiting for decades to be broken by the arrival of Elias Thorne, who stood at the threshold with his hands trembling...
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