The Pale Mist

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2026-08-25 09:45:37 -

The Pale Mist

The fog did not roll in; it ate. It crept through the cobblestones of Oakhaven like a slow, white rot, dissolving the edges of the world until the city was little more than a memory of itself. Elias Thorne stood on the bridge, his uniform stiff with damp, the fabric already beginning to fray at the cuffs. He was thirty-four years old, and his hands shook with the specific, hollow tremor of a...

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