The Faded Portrait
The rain hits the windshield in sharp, staccato bursts. You are driving. The road is a black ribbon through the white fog. Your hands grip the wheel. They are steady. They are always steady. You are an investigator. You look for what is missing. You look for what is broken. Tonight, you drive to the coast. The air is cold. It smells of salt and diesel. Your mentor, Elias, is waiting. He is old....
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