The Wistful Saga
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended grey curtain that blurred the edges of the world into a single, wet unity. Elias Vane stood at the center of the room, a space that should not have existed within the concrete bones of the decommissioned federal observatory in the Appalachian foothills. He was a man carved from the same stubborn stone as the mountains, his uniform pressed...
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