When the clouds fall, the deep will stir. It began like any ordinary veil off the water. a familiar gray before dawn. But the fog didn’t lift. It thickened, lingered, and carried something a weight in the air, a rasp in the lungs, and the sense that the horizon itself was devoured. By the time anyone realized this fog was different… they were already lost. Sound carried wrong. Shapes moved where nothing should. The very basics.. breath, distance, gravity, light all started to feel negotiable. What began as a harmless morning mist becomes a creeping presence with its own patience and appetite. Book One of the Cloudfall series. For readers of Jeff VanderMeer, China Miéville, and Stephen King’s The Mist.