The Distant Threshold
The brass button sat in your palm, cold and heavy, its surface worn smooth by twenty years of thumbs. You turned it over, tracing the groove where the pin had broken, a small, jagged wound in the metal. Outside the window of the magistrate’s office, the wind screamed across the highlands, a low, continuous moan that vibrated in your teeth. You were Elias Thorne, border patrol officer, and your...
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