The Faded Guest
The rain here does not fall; it hangs, a grey veil that soaks into the bone before it ever touches the ground. I am Teresa Montano, and I am tired of the weight of my own uniform. It is the winter of my thirty-second year, and the wind off the Basque coast cuts through the wool with a sound like tearing cloth. I stand at the checkpoint, the iron gate behind me, watching the new inspector, a man...
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