The Golden Myth
The letter lay on the wet concrete of the checkpoint floor, the ink blurred where a drop of mud had hit the corner of the page. Sergeant Elias Thorne picked it up with a gloved hand, the brass seal in his other pocket humming against his thigh with a low, domestic vibration, like a refrigerator running in an empty room. He read the three lines twice, the words flat and bureaucratic: *Transfer...
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