The Wistful Campus
The border wall bled. It was a slow, viscous oozing of rust-colored fluid that seeped from the concrete joints, pooling in the scrub brush at Elias Thorne’s boots. He stood there, his hand resting on the cold metal of his sidearm, watching the stain spread with the detached precision of a man observing a mechanical failure. Elias was thirty-two, a border patrol agent with twelve years of...
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