The Pale Mist
The industrial fog rolled off the Nile, thick and grey, settling into the crevices of the brickwork and the rusted hulls of the stranded boats that lined the riverbank like broken teeth. It was a town that smelled of wet wool and machine oil, where the air itself felt heavy with the weight of unspoken debts and the rhythmic clanging of distant factories. I stood at the edge of the water, the...
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