The Wistful Witness
The rain hit the window of the observation deck with a rhythmic, mechanical hiss. I counted the drops. One. Two. Three. My watch ticked. It was a good watch. A Casio. Reliable. "Did you see it?" asked Silas. He leaned on the railing. His jacket was soaked through. "The shift?" "I saw nothing," I said. "Just the fog." "Never say just the fog," Silas whispered. "That is how you die. You ignore...
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