The Pale Mist

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2026-08-24 07:57:31 -

The Pale Mist

The glass face of the pocket watch was already cracked when I pulled it from my waistcoat, a fracture running from the twelve to the six like a vein of ice in a frozen pond. I held it in my left hand, the metal cold and heavy against my palm, while my right hand tightened on the brass of my badge. The council chamber smelled of wet wool and stale pipe tobacco, a thick, cloying scent that seemed...

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