The Faded Road
The crowd screamed, a wall of sound that crashed against the barricade, and someone shouted Elias Thorne’s name, not in greeting, but in the sharp, flat tone of a man calling for a dog to heel. Elias stood at the front line, his baton raised, his knuckles white and raw, the air thick with the smell of burning tires and wet wool. His body was a cage of fire, the chronic pain in his lower spine...
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