The Distant Joke

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2026-08-23 18:20:11 -

The Distant Joke

The revolver in Elias Thorne’s hand was cold, the grip slick with the damp that permeated the Blackwood Marshes. He checked the cylinder, a habit born of twenty years of service, his fingers numb and thickened by the chill. The fog was not merely weather; it was a living thing, a grey slurry that swallowed the iron bridges and the coal chutes of the town above. Three days had passed since the...

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