The Distant Threshold
The fog rolled into the mill town of Oakhaven not as weather, but as a verdict, thick and grey, smelling of wet wool and sulfur. It swallowed the chimneys of the textile factories, erasing the skyline until the world was nothing but a damp, breathing void. Elias Thorne stood at the window of his office, the glass cold against his forehead, watching the mist devour the street below. He was a man...
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