The Pale Fracture
The fog that rolled off the Blackwater estuary did not merely obscure the world; it consumed it, a thick, woolen shroud that smothered the lanterns of the dockside and turned the ancient stone of the abbey ruins into ghostly, breathing things. Inside the dry stone of the undercroft, where the air tasted of wet chalk and centuries of silence, Elias Thorne sat with his hands resting on his knees,...
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