The Faded River
The snow had ceased to fall three hours ago, leaving the world in a state of brittle, white silence that pressed against the windows of the Sector 4 checkpoint like a physical weight. Elias Thorne adjusted the rearview mirror, his breath fogging the glass in short, sharp plumes, and watched the rear lights of the last vehicle disappear into the gray murk of the highway. He was forty-two, a...
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