The Pale Banner
The truck’s steering wheel was cold, a slab of plastic that bit into Elias Thorne’s palms as he crossed the salt flats. The Nevada sun hung low and white, bleaching the horizon until the distinction between earth and sky vanished into a single, blinding sheet of glare. He had driven for six hours, fueled by the specific, corrosive hope that the "Pale Banner" hangar still stood. It was the...
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