The Pale Echo
The rain did not fall so much as it was pressed against the glass by the sheer weight of the city’s indifference, a cold, relentless sheet of grey that blurred the neon signs of the financial district into smeared streaks of electric blue and sickly amber. Inside the windowless interrogation room, the air was still and stale, tasting of recycled ozone and the faint, metallic tang of fear that...
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