The Wistful Silence
The rain in the city does not wash things clean; it only makes the grime slicker, turning the asphalt into a mirror that reflects the broken neon of the storefronts in distorted, bleeding streaks. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, with twelve years of service in the Border Patrol, and I am currently standing in the alley behind the precinct, waiting for the ghost of Marcus Vane to stop...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 2 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση