The Wistful Silence
The clipboard was slick with condensation, the plastic cover warped by the heat of the sun that had broken through the clouds only an hour before. Elias Thorne held it against his chest, the corners digging into his ribs, as he watched the mountain pass begin to tear itself apart. It was not a gradual slide but a violent exhalation, a slab of granite and ice the size of a house shedding its...
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