Staircase of Veiled Mist

The fog in Soudah didn’t just roll in today; it sat heavy and leaden, a shroud of slate-grey vapor that seemed to intentionally smother the coffee terraces. Jazi stood at the jagged lip of the cliff, where the sky bled into the earth in a murky, indistinct haze. Her eyes, raw from exhaustion and the salt of grief, were fixed on the debris scattered at the valley floor—stones that had, only hours ago, marked the end of a man who embodied the mountain itself. They had carried her grandfather Silas’s body away long ago, but his ghost remained etched into the air. The bitter, earthy scent of roasted coffee—a fragrance that had settled into his very pores over eight decades—lingered still, clashing with the smell of wet silt and the lingering morning dew. Jazi felt the bite of the cold stone through her boots. It felt as though the mountain was shivering, mourning the loss of its final sentinel. With steadying breaths, she pulled her phone from her heavy coat pocket. She opened 'Harvest,' the smart-farming application that had been her senior project, never imagining it would serve as a silent witness to a crime. She swiped to the logs for Digital Sensor 4, positioned precisely at the…