The Wistful Mountain
The champagne corks pop like pistol shots in the small, stuffy room of the county station. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four, and you are drinking too fast. The banquet is for Miller, your partner, who just got the promotion to district lead. You want the pension. You want out before the winter freeze sets in and the Hollow becomes a trap. Miller raises his glass, his face flushed with cheap...
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