The Pale Shadows
The fog in the port was a physical thing, a wall of grey damp that turned the cranes into ghosts and made the air taste of rust. Ketil Odden stood on the pier, his hands shaking not from cold, but from the fine print of the reverse mortgage agreement he had signed that morning. The tax boat was due early this year, the notice had said, and the fine print had stripped him of his cellar, his...
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