The Pale Path
The fog in Harrowgate did not roll in; it stood, a grey wall that swallowed the chimneys and the streetlamps alike. Twelve-year-old Elias Vane walked through it with a singular, burning purpose in his chest, his boots crunching on the wet slate of the cobblestones. He was leaving. He was leaving before the sun rose, before his father woke and saw the hollows under his eyes, before the coughing...
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