The Faded Photograph
March 14, 2024 The dust from the mill district hasn't settled in my lungs, or in the precinct, or in the city of Ashford, and I am writing this by the light of a desk lamp that buzzes like a dying insect while the rain hammers against the windowpane of my apartment, a sound that feels less like weather and more like the city trying to wash itself clean of what we did. I am Sergeant Elias...
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