The Distant Ghost
The wind on the ridge did not howl so much as it screamed, a high, thin note that seemed to drill directly into the bones of Elias Thorne, a forty-five-year-old border patrol commander who stood with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his heavy wool coat, watching the whiteout swallow the figure of his younger brother. Julian, thirty-two and limping with a bad knee that had never fully...
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