The Pale Dance
The rain fell in sheets against the precinct window, blurring the city into a watercolor of grey and slate. I stood there, coffee growing cold in my hand, watching the figure in the grey coat. He stood three feet from the glass, hollow-eyed, mirroring my shift in weight with a half-second delay. It was a trick of the light, I told myself, but the heart in my chest hammered a frantic, arrhythmic...
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