The Pale Garden
The fog did not merely cover the town of Oakhaven; it colonized it, a wet, gray membrane that pressed against the glass of the police station windows until the glass seemed to bow inward under the weight of the damp. Sergeant Arthur Vance sat at his desk, the wood polished to a mirror sheen by decades of elbows and quiet despair. He was a man composed of right angles and silence, his uniform a...
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