The Distant Joke
The fog rolled off the Chesapeake like a grey shroud, thick with the scent of brine and rotting kelp, erasing the horizon until the world shrank to the wet planks of the pier and the rhythmic, mechanical thrum of the dockside generator. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the decay, his coat damp with the mist, his fingers white-knuckled around the handle of a duffel bag that felt heavier than...
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