The Faded Frequency
The letter lay on the mud-slicked ground, its edges curling and blackening from the damp, a thin rectangle of paper that seemed impossibly light against the heavy, caked earth of the trench. Elias Thorne wiped the grime from his spectacles, his hands trembling not from cold but from the sheer exhaustion of holding his body together, and began to write, the ink smearing on the nib as he...
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