The Distant Crown
The snow did not fall; it hung in the air, suspended in a silence so thick it pressed against Elias Thorne’s eardrums like deep water. He stood on the frozen ridge of the Kestrel Pass, his breath misting in sharp, jagged bursts, watching his partner, Sarah, crumple to the ground. Her uniform, a faded olive drab that had seen too many winters, stained with a dark, arterial spray that turned...
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