The Pale Mist
The fire started in the dry grass of the industrial park, but it was the smell that broke Mara. It was a sharp, chemical tang, like burnt plastic mixed with the ozone of a summer storm, a scent that had become the background hum of her life in the city of St. Jude. She stood on the balcony of their cramped apartment on the fourth floor, the metal railing cold under her palms, watching the...
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