The Pale Mist
You are in the break room. The coffee is burnt. It tastes like ash and old pennies. You sit at the edge of the table. Your hands are shaking. You press them flat against the laminate. They will not stop. The door opens. Edward Ashworth walks in. He is wearing his gray suit. It is clean. It is perfect. He does not look at you. He goes to the machine. He pours his cup. He sips. He is calm. You...
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