The Pale Mist
The smell hits you before the sight does, a sharp, antiseptic bite of iodine and stale coffee that hangs in the recycled air of the federal medical bay like a physical weight. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a border patrol agent who has spent the last decade standing between the nation and the chaos beyond its lines, and right now you are sitting in a plastic chair that is too small...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews