The Pale Mist
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended gray curtain that turned the streets of Millhaven into a series of liquid mirrors, each one reflecting the warped, flickering neon of the pharmacy that sat at the end of the cul-de-sac. Dr. Elias Thorne drove his sedan through the wet dark, the wipers beating a rhythmic, exhausted cadance against the glass, a metronome for a heart that...
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