The Golden Master
The radio handset hangs loose in your right hand, its plastic casing cold against your palm, the antenna snapped clean off at the base. You are standing at the mouth of the Kestrel Pass, a jagged throat of granite and fog that has swallowed men for three centuries, and you are watching the tail lights of your unit’s transport trucks recede into the grey murk without you. Sergeant Elias Thorne,...
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