The Faded Road
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray curtain that turned the world into a smear of wet slate and dying moss. Sergeant Elias Thorne sat in the back of the transport, his knees pressed against the cold floor, watching the water bead and race down the scratched glass. He was fifty-two years old, though the ache in his left hip suggested he was closer to eighty. The joint was a...
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