The Wistful Letter
The mist did not roll in; it precipitated, a heavy, gray silt that settled into the pores of the skin and the joints of the machinery. Elias Thorne walked the perimeter of the Blackwood Sector, his boots sinking into the peat that smelled of iron and rot. He was a man composed of rigid lines and quiet tensions, a Senior Inspector of the Anomalous Containment Bureau, though the title meant...
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