The Wistful Atlas
Elias Thorne adjusted the gain on the parabolic microphone, his fingers trembling slightly against the cold metal casing. The stone archway, known internally as Site 7, stood in a clearing of dead scrub brush, its surface pitted by centuries of wind and rain. It was a relic of no known era, a jagged piece of geology that the Border Patrol treated with the same dismissive indifference they...
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