The Distant Threshold
The rain fell in sheets. Gray. Cold. It ran off the shoulders of Sergeant Elias Thorne. He stood on the corner of Fifth and Main. The cobblestones were slick. Mud mixed with oil. The smell of coal smoke hung heavy. It tasted like rust. A scream cut the air. High. Sharp. Elias moved. His legs were heavy. Lead. He pulled his pistol. The metal was cold against his palm. He had held it for twenty...
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