The Pale Verdict
The fog did not roll in so much as it materialized, a thick, suffocating wool that swallowed the cobblestones of Millhaven and the gaslights of the Watchtower in a single, silent gulp. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood on the balcony of the precinct, his uniform buttoned to the chin, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long since gone cold, the ceramic chipped at the rim where it had been...
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