The Faded River
The barge sat low in the current, its hull a bruised purple against the grey water of the Ohio, and the silence of the morning was broken only by the rhythmic creak of the rigging. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, a patrol officer with twelve years of service on the river, and you stand on the deck of the *Sentry* with your hands gripping the railing until your knuckles turn white....
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