The Distant Affair
The fog did not roll into Greyhaven; it seeped up from the wet cobblestones, a cold, grey breath that tasted of rust and old brine. Elias Thorne kept his patrol car low on the coastal road, the engine humming a dull, steady note that did little to ward off the chill settling in his bones. He was forty years old, a border patrol agent with a face that had begun to resemble the weather—hardened,...
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