The Distant Nightmare
The rain in Chicago did not wash the city clean; it merely slicked the grime into a darker, more coherent sheen, reflecting the neon bleed of the Loop in the puddles that gathered along the curb. Detective Elias Thorne stood before the heavy oak doors of the 19th Precinct, his collar turned up against the chill, watching the way the water ran down the wood in thick, oily rivulets. It was three...
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