The Faded Dust
The rain did not wash the city; it only made the grime slicker, turning the asphalt into a black mirror that reflected nothing but the low, bruised sky. Elias stood on the corner of Fourth and Main, his shoulders hunched against the chill, watching the steam rise from a grate. He was a man composed of straight lines and hard angles, a shape that had been carved by years of wearing a uniform...
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