The Faded Paradox
The fog in Oakhaven did not roll in; it breathed. It was a living thing, thick and gray, pressing against the windows of the Thorne house until the glass bowed inward. Twelve-year-old Elias Thorne stood before the front door, his hands trembling not from cold, but from the weight of the key he held. Inside, his mother, Margaret, sat at the kitchen table, her back rigid, staring at a plate of...
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