The Faded Dust
The departure was not marked by the tearing of a limb or the wailing of a siren but by the slow, grinding silence of a heavy iron gate sliding shut behind the back of the van, a sound that seemed to swallow the remaining light of the afternoon whole, leaving Sergeant Elias Thorne alone with the smell of stale coffee and the dust that had settled in the crevices of his uniform like a fine, grey...
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