The Pale Protocol
The pen slips in your hand, leaving a long, jagged scratch across the paper. You steady your grip, the ink drying in the cold air of the kitchen. It is October, and the frost has already settled on the windowpanes, turning the glass into a frosted mirror that reflects your own tired face. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, a border patrol officer with twelve years of service and a...
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