The Pale Echo
The mud sucked at my boots with a wet, greedy sound, a rhythm that matched the thudding of my own heart. I was running. Not away from danger, exactly, but toward a silence that felt heavier than the storm breaking over the ridge. The rain was cold, a physical weight against my skin, blurring the world into a smear of gray and brown. I checked my sidearm. It was empty. The magazine was in my...
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