The Wistful Silence
The rain lashed against the reinforced glass of Sector 4, a rhythmic, percussive drumming that Elias Thorne had learned to tune out over twenty years of service. He sat at his terminal, the blue glow of the monitor casting long, sharp shadows across his weathered face, his eyes fixed on the scrolling data streams that represented the heartbeat of the border. At forty-two, Elias was the senior...
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