The Pale Mist

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2026-08-17 18:33:42 -

The Pale Mist

The mist rolled in from the harbor, thick and grey, swallowing the docks whole. It smelled of brine and old rot. Thomas stood at the rail, his hands white-knuckled on the iron. He watched the ship pull away. The engine coughed. A black plume rose, then vanished into the white wall of fog. He did not wave. He could not. Behind him, the city slept. London was a beast that dreamed in soot and...

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