The Distant Ghost
Chapter One Imran Ali wiped the mud from his boots, the black sludge slick against the leather. The frost had killed the late beans in the valley below, leaving the fields white and brittle, but here in the boiler room of the ferry crossing, the air was heavy with hot iron and wet wool. He was thirty-two, a border patrol officer, and he was shaking. Not from the cold, though the wind off the...
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