The Distant Temple
The rain in Seattle did not fall so much as it hung, a gray suspension that turned the city into a watercolor left out in the damp. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; time had begun to feel like a loose thread in a sweater, pulling at the edges. Elias Thorne stood on the corner of Fourth and Pine, his hand resting on the small of his back. The pain was a familiar tenant there, a dull,...
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