The Golden Crossing
"Thorne, you are thirty days from a full pension. Do not make me write the memo that says otherwise." The voice on the other end of the line was Director Halloway, crisp and cold as the wind rattling the loose shutters of the patrol station. I hung up the receiver, the weight of the brass handset heavy in my palm. The snow outside was falling in thick, wet clumps, the kind that packs into the...
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