The Pale Meridian

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2026-08-19 20:59:56 -

The Pale Meridian

The fog did not lift. It thickened. Silas stood by the window, his breath forming small, white ghosts against the glass. Outside, the river was a black vein, pulsing with a rhythm that felt less like water and more like blood. He pressed his forehead to the pane. Cold. Sharp. Alive. He was the investigator. Or so the town claimed. A title for a man who wore a coat stitched from rags and ate...

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