The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-24 10:01:45 -

The Wistful Ashes

The fog in Oakhaven does not roll in; it seeps up from the cobblestones, a grey, particulate mist that tastes of burnt hair and old paper. I am thirty-two years old, a junior inspector for the Bureau of Civic Order, and I have come here because the debt my father left behind is a noose I cannot cut, only tighten. I need a permanent posting, a salary that will cover the interest on the mortgages...

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