The Distant Joke
You’re not a recruit, are you, Kael? The question hung in the damp air of the wagon, heavy and cold, as the wheels groaned over the rutted track leading into the Gray. Elias Thorne did not look up from the iron compass in his lap, his thumb tracing the hairline fracture that had appeared over the last hour. He was forty-five, which meant he had twenty years of service behind him and a pension...
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