The Pale Mist
Chaiya Thammawong descended the twenty-three of the Tannery Steps, her boots striking the wet stone in a rhythm that matched the distant, discordant tuning of a band that had not yet played. The air in the lower district of Chiang Mai hung heavy with the scent of wet clay and the metallic tang of the river’s upstream silt, a physical weight that pressed against her lungs before she even...
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