The Pale Shadows
The ledger said four years, six months, and twelve days to full pension. Elias Thorne checked the math twice. The numbers were clean, the ink dry. He held the clipboard against his chest, the weight of it a small, solid comfort in the damp air. Outside, the fog pressed against the glass of Checkpoint Nine, a thick, gray wall that smelled of brine and rot. It was not a natural fog. It tasted of...
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