The Pale Mist
"You’re telling me the iron content is negligible?" The question hung in the air of the inspection office, dry and sharp. Elias Thorne sat behind his desk, the light from the high window slicing across the linoleum floor in a pale, dusty wedge. He was fifty-two, with hands that trembled slightly when he held a pen, a tremor he had learned to hide by gripping the wood of the desk edge. Across...
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