The Pale Mist
"Seal the third gate, Sergeant. The grain must not slip through." Ying He stood in the tithe barn, the air heavy with wet chaff and the metallic tang of the snow that had begun to close the road outside. He was thirty years old, a rigid enforcer for the Pale Mist Authority, and he wanted only to secure his permanent pension by capturing the Mist-Walker, a phantom who stole from the elite and...
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