The Pale Fracture
Act I The border did not exist, but the wall did. Refugio Beltrán stood in the observation blister, the air thin and recycled, smelling of ozone and old dust. Below, the black-soil plain stretched to the horizon, a void that swallowed the light of the drowned cities. He was thirty-two, and his pension depended on one final entry in the log: the sealing of the pale fracture. The wall was...
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