The Faded Frontier
Imelda Hinojosa’s hand tightened on the brass railing, her knuckles white against the cold metal, as the banquet hall hummed with the low, electric thrum of the new customs house. The air was heavy with roasted goat and stale tobacco, a cloying mix that clung to the back of her throat, while the dust from the badlands outside drifted in through the cracked shutters, settling on the silver...
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