The Pale Fracture
The bullet tore through the air. It missed. It missed by a hair. Miles stood in the rain. The rain was cold. It soaked his coat. He felt nothing. He held the rifle steady. His hands did not shake. They never shook. Not since the war. Not since the silence. He looked at the man across the street. The man raised a hand. A white flag? No. A gun. Miles pulled the trigger. The sound was a crack. A...
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