The Pale Mist
The letter lay on the table, its seal broken, the ink smudged where Elias Thorne’s thumb had pressed too hard. It was a formal dismissal, or rather, a reassignment to the cold, damp outpost at Blackwater, effective immediately. He read it twice, the paper trembling slightly in his grip, not from fear but from the sheer, heavy weight of the iron bar resting against his hip. The bar was cold, a...
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