The Golden Compass
The Hum started on the first of December, a low-frequency thrum that sat in the teeth and the hollow of the chest. By March, it had become a physical weight, a pressure that made the instruments in the checkpoint station twitch and fail. I am Elias Thorne, fifty-two, and I have served this border for twenty years, a tenure that usually guarantees a pension if one can survive the final physical....
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