The Faded Ruin
Bronwen Griffiths had not thought about the fog in the port since the day the tow-truck dispatcher’s office closed, the keyboard sounds fading into the wet silence of the valley, yet now, standing before the sterile white vault in the capital, the memory of that useless weather clung to him like damp wool. He was forty-two, a master apothecary in a city that traded in the preservation of the...
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