The Pale Meridian
The fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and gray, smelling of brine and rust. It swallowed the cobblestones. It swallowed the gas lamps. It swallowed the world. Elias Vane stood on the wet pavement, his coat soaked through. He was a clerk at the Meridian Insurance Company. He filed claims for lost cargo. He calculated the depreciation of timber. He was a man of numbers and dry facts. But...
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