The Distant Ghost
The fog in Oakhaven did not behave like weather; it behaved like a witness. It swirled around the cobblestones of the High Street with a deliberate, humming viscosity, pressing against the windows of the Magistrate’s Court until the glass groaned under the weight of its silence. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and you have spent the last decade trying to scrub the stain of your...
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