The Pale Protocol
The frost has turned the border fence into a jagged line of white teeth against the grey sky. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, and I am sitting in my office at the Harrowgate checkpoint, watching the ink dry on a transfer form. My hands are steady. They are always steady. I have been a border patrol officer for eleven years, and in that time I have learned that the only thing more...
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