The Faded Sutra
The fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and grey, tasting of coal smoke and brine. It settled over the city of Oakhaven like a shroud, swallowing the spires of the church and the chimneys of the factories. Elias Thorne walked through it, his boots clicking against the wet cobblestones. He was a man of few words and many questions. He worked for the Bureau of Anomalies. Or so he thought. His...
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