The Wistful Silence
The snow was deep enough to swallow a man whole, and it was doing its work on the body of the smuggler you had buried only an hour prior, the cold biting into the raw skin of your hands as you smoothed the powder over the depression. You were Elias Thorne, a commander who had spent twenty-two years keeping the line, and you wanted nothing more than the quiet dignity of a pension, a clean...
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