The Distant Metropolis
The ink was still wet on the case file when the first crack appeared in the ceiling of Arthur Penhaligon’s office, a hairline fracture that spidered outward with a sound like a bone snapping, though the building itself did not shake, nor did the rain outside cease its relentless, gray drumming against the windows of the Municipal Bureau of Anomalies. Arthur sat in his leather chair, the spine...
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