The Wistful Skyline
The coat hung on the back of the door, a silhouette against the peeling plaster of the hallway. It was a heavy wool thing, charcoal grey, the kind that absorbed light rather than reflecting it. Elias checked the time on the wall, the second hand ticking with a mechanical indifference that felt almost violent in the quiet house. He had left the coat there for three days. Three days of walking...
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