The Pale Verdict
The train cut through the mist with a shriek that sounded like tearing canvas. Silas Vance stood at the door. He wore the uniform of the Border Guard. It was grey. It was heavy. It smelled of wool and old sweat. His hands were clasped behind his back. They were still. They were always still. He looked at the track. The track was a dark line. It vanished into the white. He did not blink. His...
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