The Distant Wound
The fog in Oakhaven did not lift; it thickened, a wet grey wool that smothered the cobblestones and seeped into the bones of the men who patrolled the streets. Sergeant Elias Thorne adjusted the collar of his Bureau uniform, the stiff fabric scratching against the raised, jagged scar that ran from his left ear to his clavicle. The Wound, the townsfolk called it, though the Bureau manuals...
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