The Faded Apartment
The rain in this part of the city did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain drawn tight against the windowpane of the third-floor flat. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the room, the dampness seeping into his socks, and stared at the object in his palm. It was a brass constable’s badge, thirty-four years old and tarnished to a dull, sickly brown at the edges. On the table before him...
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