The Pale Banner
The train whistle screamed, a long, tearing sound that split the gray morning air, and Elias Thorne stood on the platform, his coat buttoned to the throat, watching the dust settle on the cobblestones. He was thirty years old, a sergeant with twelve years of service, and he had come to the industrial frontier of the Blackwood Valley to clear his name, a task that felt as heavy and immovable as...
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