The Faded Dust
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the world outside the shop window and turned the street into a slick, reflective mirror of the neon signs and the passing headlights. Elias Thorne stood behind the counter, his hands resting on the worn velvet display case, watching the water bead and run down the glass in slow, deliberate rivulets...
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