The Pale Banner
Thorne. The name hit the air before the man did, a sharp bark that cut through the hum of the office radiator. You stood by the window, your back to the door, watching the grey sky press down on the roof of the station. The weight of the silver badge in your pocket pulled at your hip, a cold anchor against the trembling of your legs. Three days. That was all the time left before the state audit...
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