The Pale Mist
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey curtain that erased the horizon and turned the Appalachian foothills into a slurry of mud and rot, and Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the ravine with his boots sinking into the black muck, the weight of his service weapon heavy and cold against his hip, the only solid thing in a world that felt increasingly like it was dissolving,...
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