The Distant Joke

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2026-08-24 07:04:43 -

The Distant Joke

The fog in Oakhaven did not roll in; it rose, a thick, sulfurous vapor that tasted of coal dust and rot. I left the debtor’s prison gate behind me, the iron clang echoing in the damp air, knowing my father’s breath was growing shallower with every hour. I was Elias Thorne, thirty-two, a surveyor with ink-stained fingers and a debt that outweighed my soul. I had one goal: to clear Arthur...

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