The Golden Compass
The fog rolled off the Chesapeake Bay in thick, gray sheets, erasing the line between the water and the sky. Thomas Bradshaw moved through it with the slow, deliberate gait of a man who had learned that speed was a luxury he could no longer afford. He was a Deputy Marshal in name, but in practice, he was a ghost haunting the rusted bones of an industrial town that had died quietly, one factory...
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