The Pale Fracture
The truck’s heater rattled against the cold, a mechanical cough that did little to stop the frost from creeping across the windshield. Elias Thorne kept his hands tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white, as the vehicle cut through the whiteout of the tundra. He was thirty-four, a border patrol officer with a clean record and a hollow chest, and he was driving toward a man the state had...
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