The Pale Mist
The stationmaster at Harrowgate watched Arthur Vane board the last carriage, a silent figure in a heavy wool coat that smelled of coal dust and departure. Elara stood on the platform, her hand extended, but Arthur did not take it. He looked at her face, trying to memorize the architecture of her features, the specific curve of her jaw, the way the gray light caught the blue in her eyes. He...
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