The Pale Mist
The fog did not roll in; it erupted. It hit the harbor district of Blackwood with the force of a physical blow, erasing the skyline, the water, and the horizon in a single, white exhalation. Elias Thorne stood on the pier, his boots sinking into the wet timber, and watched the world dissolve into a blankness so absolute it felt like death. He was a man built for order, for the rigid geometry of...
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