The Pale Mist

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2026-08-24 09:24:44 -

The Pale Mist

The tremor in my left hand was not a symptom; it was a countdown. I sat at the heavy oak desk in the Inquisitor’s chamber, the leather creaking under my weight, while the mist outside the high window pressed against the glass like a living thing seeking entry. I was fifty-two years old, a senior inquisitor of the Order of the Veil, and I had spent the last three years hunting the heretic who...

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