The Wistful Witness
The fog in Oakhaven did not roll in; it seeped up from the cobblestones like a bruise spreading beneath skin, tasting of wet wool and the copper tang of old blood, a pervasive miasma that settled into the lungs of every citizen until the very air felt heavy with the weight of unspoken secrets. Elias Thorne, a city guard of thirty-four years whose uniform was perpetually damp and whose hands...
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