The Pale Shadows
The cold in the Miller’s Hollow mill was not the cold of winter, but a hollowing, a absence that pressed against your skin like a damp cloth left too long. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a border patrol officer with fifteen years of service and a pension that is currently suspended, pending the resolution of an incident that has no name. You want the shadow. You want to catch it, tag it, and...
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