The Wistful Ashes
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey veil that erased the horizon beyond the perimeter fence of the Sector. Elias Thorne pressed his back against the cold concrete of the observation tower, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts that fogged and vanished before his eyes. He was fifty-two years old, though the mirror in his quarters had begun to lie, showing a...
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