The Faded Paradox
The fog did not rise so much as it simply existed, a thick, gray wool that suffocated the valley of Oakhaven in a perpetual state of twilight. Thomas, who was only twelve but carried the heavy, unblinking gaze of a much older soul, stood at the window of his office in the Holloway Institute for Juvenile Psychology. The room was sterile, smelling of floor wax and the faint, metallic tang of...
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