The Silent Array
The desert did not forgive mistakes. It simply erased them. Jack Morrison drove his Honda across the New Mexico flats at dawn, the steering wheel cracked and warm against his palms. He had no idea where he was going. The man who hired him had given him a single address: Site 17, via Highway 60, turn left at the water tower, follow the gravel road for twelve miles. No name, no logo, no...
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