The Wistful Crossroads
The fog inside the car is thick enough to taste, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, and you have been sitting in this sealed compartment for three days. You want to reach Saint-Valery. You want to see Clara. The opposing force is not the fog, nor the cold, but the Grey Man who stands at the end of the corridor, holding a mirror that reflects...
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