The Golden Mirror
The fog in Oakhaven does not roll in; it seeps, a slow, viscous invasion that turns the cobblestones into slick mirrors of grey stone and dampens the breath of every soul foolish enough to walk the high street. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a constable whose badge hangs heavy and cold against your chest, a weight you have worn for twenty years in service to a village that has decided, with...
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