The Golden Farce
The fog did not roll into Oakhaven so much as it exhaled from the earth, a thick, gray breath that swallowed the road and erased the horizon in a single, suffocating inhalation. Elias Thorne, his face a map of twenty years’ service etched into lines that seemed to deepen with every mile he covered, guided his horse through the murk with a hand that had not trembled since the day he buried his...
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