The Distant Metropolis
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey curtain that blurred the distinction between the wet cobblestones of the old town and the damp, breathing mist rising from the river below, and it was in this specific, heavy humidity that Elias Thorne felt the first true tremor of his unraveling, a sensation not of fear but of a profound, cellular exhaustion that seemed to...
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