The Golden Echoes
The ledger on the desk counted one hundred and forty-two souls lost in the last fiscal quarter, a number that felt heavy in Elias Thorne’s hands, each entry a small, cold brick in the foundation of his career. He was forty-five, a border patrol agent with twenty years of service, and he stood now at the jagged, shimmering edge of the Meridian Line, where the air tasted of ozone and old copper....
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