The Distant Ghost
The fog did not roll in. It seeped. It crept up the rusted iron legs of the pier like a slow, grey tide, swallowing the world in layers. Elias Vance stood at the end of the walkway, his boots sinking slightly into the rotting planks. He was a man of sharp angles and sharper questions, a detective who had spent thirty years chasing shadows through the soot-stained streets of London. Now, the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews