The Golden Greenhouse
Thorne. Move your feet, Thorne, or I’ll drag you myself. The voice of the smuggler, a man whose name the file listed only as "Subject A," cracked through the snow like a branch under heavy ice. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and you are currently face down in the drifts, your cheek pressed against the frozen crust of the border line, tasting the metallic tang of your own bitten lip....
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