The Faded Apartment
The fog in Oakhaven does not lift; it settles, a wet wool blanket that suffocates the stone walls and the people within them. You are Elias, forty-two, and your left hand is fractured, the bones grinding against each other with every movement, a constant, dull ache that serves as a metronome for your guilt. You hold Clara’s hand in your lap, her skin cool and papery, the flesh from the wrist up...
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