The Pale Protocol
"You’re telling me the fog ate them." I write that sentence down, not as a question, but as a fact to be corrected. My hand shakes slightly, not from the cold, though the station is freezing, but from the effort of holding my breath while the radio crackles with static that sounds too much like wet leaves tearing. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two, and I have served the border for twenty years. I...
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