The Wistful Mirror
The rain hits the pavement in sheets, a relentless, grey curtain that blurs the line between the street and the sky. You are standing under the awning of a shuttered laundromat. Your name is Elias. You are not a detective in the way the old stories imagine. You do not carry a gun. You do not wear a trench coat, though your wool jacket is soaked and heavy. You are an investigator of the...
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