The Pale Mist
The chamomile tea in the porcelain cup turned the color of arterial blood before I could even lift it to my lips, a visceral splash of red against the white glaze that made my hands tremble in a way they rarely did anymore. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old and a state trooper with twenty years of service under my belt, and I have spent the last decade trying to convince myself that I am a...
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