The Pale Meridian
Thorne, you are digging too deep. Sergeant Elias Thorne did not look up from the trench. The mud of the border outpost was thick and cold, clinging to his boots with a suction that felt less like earth and more like a wet, heavy tongue. He was thirty-four years old, a man whose body had been mapped by the service since he was eighteen, and he was tired in a way that sleep could not fix. The...
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