The Distant Clue
Chapter One Imran Khan had been a sawmill filer for twenty-two years, a fact that meant his knuckles were permanently swollen and his spine curved like a question mark that no one had bothered to answer. He stood now in the rain-slicked mud of the northern pass, his rifle raised against a shadow that defied the wind, the cold seeping through the wool of his uniform until it felt less like...
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