The Pale Mist
The warrant was cold against my chest, a slab of ice wrapped in wax. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-two, a constable in Oakhaven, and I have sworn an oath to the Crown. The oath is a heavy thing to carry when the lungs are failing. The winter cough had seized me three days prior, turning every breath into a jagged tear in the fabric of my body. I climbed the hill toward the magistrate’s house, the...
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