The Wistful Incense
The journey northward was less a travel than a shedding, a slow and agonizing exhalation of the self into the thinning air of the highlands where the wind did not blow but rather pressed against the glass of the world with a persistent, intellectual hunger, and Captain Elias Thorne sat in the back of the unmarked sedan, his hands folded in his lap with the rigid discipline of a man who had...
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