The Distant Cartograph
The mud of the trench did not merely cling to Elias Thorne’s boots; it seemed to possess a sentient, hungry gravity that sought to pull him into the earth’s cold belly. He stood rigid, the weight of his rifle a dull ache in his shoulders, his hands trembling not with the cold that had settled into his marrow, but with the crushing, secret weight of a betrayal he had woven into the very fabric...
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