The Wistful Show
The letter lay on the steel table, its edges curling from the damp air of the patrol hut. It was a standard Form 14-B, the pension eligibility notice for border agents nearing the end of their service. Elias Thorne read it twice, the ink smudging slightly where his thumb had rested. He was thirty-four, which was young for a man seeking quiet, but the North had aged him faster than any calendar....
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