The Distant Threshold
The order was typed on heavy, cream-colored paper, the ink still wet and smelling of iron and damp earth, and Elias Thorne read it twice before his hands began to tremble, not from cold but from the sudden, heavy weight of the words that bound him to the perimeter of the Ninth Ward. It stated, in the dry, bureaucratic language of the Municipal Authority, that he was to report immediately to the...
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