The Distant Wound
The fog did not roll in so much as it solidified, a thick, gelatinous wall of grey that swallowed the iron lattice of the suspension bridge whole, erasing the distant spires of the city and leaving Sergeant Elias Thorne suspended in a void that smelled of wet rust, ozone, and the coppery tang of old blood. He stood at the center of the walkway, his heavy leather boots gripping the slats with a...
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