The Distant Clue
The rain was falling in sheets, a cold, grey curtain that turned the trench into a churning river of brown slurry. Elias Thorne stood up to his waist in the muck, his boots sinking with a wet, sucking sound that echoed off the wet clay walls. He did not care about the cold. He cared only about the man standing six feet away, dry and clean behind the sandbags, holding a clipboard like a shield....
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