The Golden Circuit
The leather grip of the service revolver is slick with sweat, the metal cold against the palm, a weight that feels both familiar and alien in the damp chill of the outpost. You are Sergeant Elias Thorne, forty years old, and the silence of the border post is so heavy it presses against your eardrums, a physical pressure that has nothing to do with the altitude. You have been waiting for this...
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