The Faded Frontier
The rain in Chicago did not wash the city clean; it merely slicked the grime into a reflective sheen that turned the streets into black mirrors. Elias Thorne, forty-two and hollowed out by six years of border enforcement, stood at the checkpoint on the south side, his hand deep in his coat pocket where a shard of cracked ceramic hummed against his palm. The vibration was tectonic, a...
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