The Pale Path
The fog did not roll in; it rose, a thick, grey exhalation from the river that swallowed the lower tier of Millstone Station until only the upper windows remained visible, glowing with the sickly yellow of gaslight. Captain Elias Thorne stood before the ledger, his quill hovering over the line for the night’s intake, his hand steady as a surgeon’s, though the stone beneath his feet hummed with...
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