The Pale Bridge
The fog in Oakhaven does not drift; it accumulates, a slow, pale sediment that settles into the crevices of the stone and the lungs of the men who live there. You are Elias Thorne, a municipal clerk of forty-two years, and your life is measured in the weight of your mother’s breathing and the cold refusal of your superiors. The city council has sealed the Pale Bridge, citing safety protocols...
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