The Pale Mist
Act I "Manifest 44-B. Sealed. Do not open. Dest: Kala Kothi Clinic. Due: 05:00." The ink was still wet. Usman Ali read the note pinned to the dashboard, his knuckles white against the cold wheel. The engine coughed, a dry, rattling sound like a man clearing phlegm, then died. Outside the windshield, the world had turned to gray wool. The Pale Mist. It did not blow; it pressed. It ate the rust...
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