The Faded Alibi
In the dream, the rain did not fall so much as it rose, a cold, gray mist that climbed from the cobblestones to choke the throat of the sky, and Elias Thorne stood in the center of a square that had no name, holding a badge that felt less like metal and more like a piece of his own rib, heavy and wet and slick with the sweat of a man who had forgotten how to breathe. The streets of this place,...
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