The Distant Wound
The shift began with the tally of hours, a digital counter on the wall of the Sector 4 border outpost ticking down from eight to zero, each second a small, heavy weight dropped onto the ledger of Elias Thorne’s existence. He was thirty-two years old, a Sergeant in the Border Enforcement Bureau, and his hands trembled slightly as he adjusted the strap of his tactical vest, the synthetic fabric...
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