The Wistful Crossroads
The fog in Oakhaven did not merely obscure the cobblestones; it possessed a tactile weight, a damp, grey viscosity that seeped into the marrow of anyone who lingered too long in the streets, settling into the joints of the old and the lungs of the young with a quiet, predatory persistence. Elias Thorne, a man whose hands had once been celebrated for their ability to coax life from dead...
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