The Pale Circus
The rain had been falling on the city for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the asphalt into a mirror of shattered lights and smeared reflections. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood in the center of the intersection, his yellow jacket soaked through to the skin, his badge a cold, dull star pinned to his chest. He was not looking at the traffic, which flowed around him like a slow,...
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