The Distant Metropolis
The letter from Whitmore & Associates lay on the porch railing, damp and softening in the October mist, its crisp edges dissolving into the gray air of Oakhaven. Elias Thorne stood with his hands in his pockets, the cold seeping through his wool coat, staring at the jagged line of the valley where the fog swallowed the treeline. He was forty-two, a man who had spent the last decade drafting...
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