The Wistful Skyline
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the slate roof of the watchtower, a relentless, wet percussion that seemed to synchronize with the thumping in Elias’s chest. He stood by the window, his hand resting on the cold glass, watching the city below dissolve into a gray smear of neon and mist. The skyline, usually a jagged promise of steel and glass, looked broken today....
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