The Wistful Crossroads
The rain in the industrial district does not fall so much as it hangs, a gray, suspended curtain that soaks through the fabric of your uniform until the wool feels like wet clay against your skin. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four, a border patrol agent whose body has become a vessel for the cold and the debt, and the only thing separating you from the hollow dark is the brass compass in your...
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