The Pale Path
The pressure dropped in the valley like a stone into a well, and Elias Thorne felt it in the marrow of his knees, a deep, resonant ache that signaled the arrival of the storm and the Pale Path. He was thirty-four years old, a border patrol officer with twelve years of service etched into the gray lines around his eyes, and he stood at the edge of the industrial fog, his hands wrapped around the...
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