The Pale Door
Act I The border was not a line on a map, but a physical weight that pressed against the sternum of every man who stood watch. Zoran Ivanovic felt it in the ache of his knees, a dull throb that had become his constant companion since he first took his post twenty years ago. He was thirty-four, though the grey in his beard and the stiffness in his shoulders suggested a man much older, worn down...
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