The Wistful Saga
The fog in Oakhaven did not lift; it settled, a thick, gray wool that choked the light and tasted of rust and wet stone. Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old and burning with a fever he refused to name, walked the perimeter of the Blackwood Mill at three in the morning. He wanted his pension. He wanted the quiet certainty of a fixed sum in the bank, a shield against the cold that gnawed at his...
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