The Pale Mist

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2026-08-22 09:04:01 -

The Pale Mist

The rain in Oakhaven did not wash the grime away; it merely made the coal dust slicker. Thomas Hale stood in the breakroom, his knuckles white around the edge of the wooden table, while Foreman Silas Vane checked his pocket watch. The air smelled of wet wool and stale tobacco. "You’re twelve, boy," Vane said, not looking up. "You think time is something you can buy with sweat? It’s a commodity....

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