The Distant Ghost
Act I Rory Cameron sat in the dark of the bunker, the rusted iron compass heavy in his palm, its needle spinning without purpose in the stagnant air. He was thirty-four years old, a lifeboat coxswain by trade and a soldier by misfortune, and he wanted nothing more than to survive the night so he could report the enemy’s retreat to command. The silence was absolute, a physical weight that...
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