The Distant Clue
The satchel weighed four pounds. You counted the stitches in the leather binding, twelve in the top seam, ten in the bottom, your thumb tracing the grooves until the skin rubbed raw. The snow fell in thick, silent flakes, burying the road behind you. You had run for six hours. Your lungs burned with the taste of iron and cold air. The checkpoint was miles back, a blur of red taillights and...
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