The Faded Guest

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2026-08-18 12:32:48 -

The Faded Guest

The fog rolled in from the harbor thick as wool, smelling of brine and old iron, and it was in that grey, suffocating silence that I first saw the thing standing by the seawall, a shape that seemed to be made of the mist itself, wearing the face of the man who had been my brother for twenty years. I stood there, my hand hovering near the hilt of my service revolver, my heart hammering against...

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