The Distant Ghost
The fog in Oakhaven does not just obscure the view; it invades the lungs, a thick, salt-tinged miasma that tastes of iron and rot. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, and your hands are already beginning to go cold, a creeping numbness that starts in the fingertips and works its way inward, a physical manifestation of the town’s obsessive devotion to the water. You stand in the Mayor’s...
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