The Wistful Dinner
The form was standard issue, a beige sheet of paper with the letterhead of the Border Patrol Agency printed in a font so small it seemed designed to be missed, and Elias Thorne held the pen with a grip that had long since forgotten how to relax, his fingers stained with the blue ink of a thousand similar signatures, the weight of the pen a familiar, heavy counterbalance to the nausea that had...
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