The Distant Ghost
The fog on the Ridge did not behave like weather; it behaved like a living thing, a white, suffocating membrane that pressed against the faces of the patrol unit and erased their footprints in the snow as quickly as they were made. Elias Thorne, a border patrol sergeant with thirty-four years of his life already worn into the deep lines of his face and the permanent ache in his knees, stood at...
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