The Wistful Skyline
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended veil of gray that turned the glass-fronted office of Elias Thorne into a sealed aquarium where the city outside was merely a blurred, aquatic memory. Elias sat behind his mahogany desk, a surface worn smooth by decades of friction, and watched the droplets trace their slow, inevitable paths down the windowpane. He was a man of...
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