The Distant Nightmare
The fog does not roll in so much as it rises, a thick, grey wall that swallows the highland stones and erases the horizon until the world is nothing but a three-foot radius of wet wool and silence. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, and your knees ache with a cold that has settled into your bones over ten years of standing watch on the border. You want only to survive the night shift,...
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