The Golden Oath
The rain did not fall; it hung in the air, a fine, metallic mist that clung to the glass of the precinct’s third-floor observation deck. Elias Thorne stood with his back to the window, watching the city bleed into the gray dusk below. He was not looking at the streets. He was looking at his own reflection, a ghostly outline in the smudged pane, and he felt a strange, detached curiosity about...
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