The Wistful Show
The rain fell hard on the city. It washed the streets clean. It washed the guilt clean. Or so he hoped. Elias Vance stood on the bridge. He wore his coat. It was dark blue. Heavy wool. It had seen better days. The fabric was worn at the elbows. The lining was thin. But it was his. He held his gun. His hand trembled. Not from cold. From anger. From fear. Below, the river churned. Black water....
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