The Pale Echo
You stand in the fog. It is thick. It tastes of iron and rot. You are not in London. You are not in any place that exists on a map. The air is cold. It cuts through your coat. You check your watch. The hands are still. Time does not move here. You are Sergeant Elias Thorne. You know this. You know it because the badge is heavy on your chest. It burns. A cold fire. You wait. You have been...
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