The Golden Downtown
The rain did not fall so much as it materialized in the air, a thick, gray curtain that turned the border town into a smear of mud and rusted tin. Elias Thorne sat in the temporary field office, a structure of plywood and canvas that groaned under the weight of the storm, his hands wrapped around a brass compass that felt less like an instrument and more like a living thing. The device, cracked...
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