The Faded Root
The crystal chandeliers in the banquet hall of the Meridian Hotel cast a fractured, cold light over the table where you sit, and the smell of roasted duck clashes violently with the phantom taste of rotting fruit that has coated your tongue for three years. You are Elias Thorne, fifty-two years old, a border patrol agent with twenty-four years of service, and your hands are trembling beneath...
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