The Wistful Show
The rain in Bristol did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the soot-stained brickwork of the old estates into a canvas of wet, black reflections. Elias Thorne pulled his collar up against the damp chill, the movement a practiced one, a ritual of containment. He was a man who had spent thirty years holding his own shape together, resisting the erosion that time and...
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