The Distant Promise
The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the sky, a thick, grey mist that clung to the high, arched windows of the St. Jude’s Municipal Preservation Authority, turning the glass into a blurred mirror of the city’s decay outside. Elias Thorne, whose hands were perpetually stained with the ochre dust of crumbling plaster and the black ink of ledgers, stood in the center of the grand...
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