The Pale Verdict
The fog did not lift. It settled into the bones of the town, a damp, grey silence that swallowed the sound of the wind in the pines. Elias Vane stood in the center of the town square, his boots rooted in the wet cobblestones. He was a man carved from stone and old iron, a sheriff who had worn his badge like a shackle for thirty years. His uniform was dark, stained with mud and something darker,...
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