The Distant Summer
"State your name and unit for the record." The voice did not come from the air. It came from the water, rising out of the black, stagnant pool with the clarity of a radio transmission cutting through static. Elias Thorne did not flinch. He adjusted his grip on the service revolver, the metal cold against his palm, and watched the mist curl around the base of the lighthouse. The brass compass in...
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