The Pale Banner
The bolt in your hand is cold, a small cylinder of steel that has been polished until it is smooth and bright, a piece of metal that feels more real than the concrete walls of the bunker pressing in on you from all sides. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, and you have been a border patrol agent for twenty-two years, a duration of service that stretches back to when you were twelve, a...
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