The Faded Road
The silver buckle of the belt sat in Elias Thorne’s palm, cold and heavy against the skin, a small metal weight that had held up his life for twenty-two years. He turned it over, watching the light catch the engraved initials of the Border Patrol Service, and the noise of the banquet hall seemed to recede into a dull, distant hum. Around him, the officers of the Ninth Sector raised their...
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