The Pale Garden
Thorne. You are late. The voice in your head is not your own, but it carries the cadence of the man who sent you, the commandant whose orders are heavier than the mud currently caking the treads of your truck. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, a border patrol officer with a spine that has been straightened by too many years of standing at attention, and you are driving into a valley...
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