The Distant Blade
The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell in a grey, relentless sheet over the pine forests of the Pacific Northwest, blurring the line between sky and earth. Elias Vance stood at the edge of the logging road, his boots sinking into the mud. He held the rifle. It was a heavy thing, a Steyr M9, matte black and cold to the touch. The wood of the stock was worn smooth by his hands, a...
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