The Faded Shield
Thorne, get your head out of the mud. The voice came from the treeline, distant and distorted, carrying the flat, administrative tone of a supervisor who had never once looked up from a clipboard. Elias Thorne did not turn. He stood in the slurry of the abandoned Kessler farm, his boots sinking three inches into the wet earth with every step he took, a movement that felt less like walking and...
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