The Pale Shadows
The rain had been falling for seventy-two hours, turning the red clay of the Appalachian foothills into a soup that sucked at Elias Thorne’s boots with every step. He counted the seconds between the thunderclaps, a habit from his days in the service that now felt like a broken metronome in his skull, each tick a reminder of how little time he had left to find Kael. The fugitive had been in this...
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