The Pale Mist
The train pulled into the station of Oakhaven with a hiss of steam that sounded like a long, dying breath. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the platform, his coat buttoned to the chin, watching the mist curl around the tracks. It was a thick, white fog, the kind that erased the horizon and made the world feel small and contained. He was here to leave. For forty years, he had studied the...
0 Reacties 0 aandelen 4 Views 0 voorbeeld