The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-17 22:59:43 -

The rain hit the windshield in diagonal sheets. I wiped it away with a gloved hand. The glass was cold. My knuckles ached. Not from the cold. From the strain. I was not a detective. Or at least, not anymore. I was a man looking for a ghost. And ghosts are hard to find in the damp fog of Oakhaven. The town smelled of wet wool and rotting leaves. It was a smell that stuck to the nose. It clung to...

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