The Golden Greenhouse
The fog at Oakhaven does not lift; it merely thins, becoming a gray membrane that presses against the glass of the customs post until the air feels solid and heavy in your lungs. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a border patrol agent who has spent the last two decades measuring the distance between duty and despair, and you want only one thing: the pension that will allow you to leave...
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