The Distant Ghost
Twenty years of service. That is what the ledger said. Twenty years of counting heads, checking seals, and standing in the cold until the numbness in your toes became a permanent resident. Elias Thorne stood alone in the scrubland, the wind tearing at his coat with a sound like tearing paper. He wanted the promotion. It was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that would make the twenty...
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