The Pale Bonsai
The fog in Oakhaven does not roll in; it seeps, a gray static that hums against the skin and settles into the pores of the limestone walls, a pervasive dampness that makes the air taste of iron and old copper. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a structural engineer whose hands are perpetually stained with the dust of blueprints and the grime of the town’s decaying infrastructure, and you are...
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