The Distant Clue
The mud of the Northern Front had a consistency like wet clay, sucking at the boots of Sergeant Elias Thorne with a grim, persistent hunger. He stood rigid in the center of the command tent, the canvas flapping violently against the poles, while Colonel Vane circled him with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator inspecting a wounded deer. Vane’s uniform was immaculate, the silk of his tie...
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