The Pale Protocol
The envelope is sealed with wax that has dried into a brittle, amber crust, and you have held it in your hands for three days, waiting for the mail carrier to come by the outpost at Kettle Creek. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and this is the end of it. Twenty years of service, of walking the same frozen trails, of watching the snow bury the world and then uncover it again, and now...
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