The Wistful Dinner
The mist in the highlands of 1893 did not roll in; it waited, a thick, grey curtain drawn tight against the world, and you, Elias, walked into it with the heavy, deliberate steps of a man who had long since stopped expecting the earth to hold firm beneath his boots. You were forty-two, a cartographer of modest renown and considerable weariness, driven by a debt of honor that had festered for...
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