The Distant Legend
The rain hit the windowpane in a steady, gray drumbeat. It was the sound of money leaving. Or rather, the sound of it failing to arrive. Silas stood by the glass. He did not wipe the condensation. He let his breath fog the air, a small, private cloud that dissolved into the cold. Outside, the city of Chicago blurred into a smear of sodium lights and wet asphalt. In here, the apartment smelled...
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