The Faded Root
The rain in the city did not fall so much as it leaked, seeping from the porous, weeping stone of the facades that lined the avenues, a constant, damp exhalation that Elias Thorne had learned to interpret as the collective sigh of the architecture itself. He stood at the base of the Old Exchange, a sprawling, Victorian monstrosity of brick and iron that had been slowly sinking into the mud of...
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