The Faded Frontier

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2026-08-23 11:49:43 -

The copper compass in my pocket ticked like a trapped beetle. I adjusted my belt, feeling the cold metal press against my hip, and walked into the breakroom of the Oakhaven Border Patrol station. The air smelled of stale coffee and floor wax, a mundane scent that did nothing to soothe the vibration in my hand. I am Elias Thorne, forty-five years old, and I have twenty-two years of service...

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