The Distant Wound
The fog in Oakhaven did not merely obscure the world; it consumed it, a thick, grey wool that suffocated the gas lamps and turned the cobblestones into slick, black mirrors. Elias Thorne stood at the window of his cramped office, his breath fogging the glass, watching the condensation slide down in erratic, weeping trails. He was a man of few possessions, and among them, the most precious was...
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