Atualizações recentes
  • The Bronx Frequency
    The Bronx Frequency I. I don't know why Ms. Vasquez asked me that question. Maybe because she had nothing better to do—her title was "Student Development Advisor," which in Carver High translation meant "the person nobody assigns to anything." Maybe because she was young enough to still believe questions had answers. "Why do I like basketball?" I was in the equipment closet stealing a ball—not...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Star-Scribe
    The ship was called the *Mnemosyne*, a slender needle of silver and obsidian that had been drifting through the intergalactic void for ten thousand years. It was no longer a vessel of exploration, but a floating mausoleum, a library of a billion ghosts. Elias was the last of the Scribes. He was not entirely human anymore; his nervous system had been integrated into the ship's quantum core, his...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Lonely Watch
    Chapter One The alarm sounded at 0300 hours. Claire Novak was awake before it — she had been awake for forty-seven minutes, counting the seconds between the station's automated system cycles. Sentry Null's routine was precise: every 217 minutes, the station's primary sensor array performed a deep-space scan. Every 34 hours, the AI, designated Archivist, compiled a status report. Every 365 days,...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • Title: The Mirage of Hope
    (Act I: The Spark) The town of Oakhaven was a scar on the landscape, a collection of grey shacks huddled around a yawning abyss of a copper mine. For three generations, the town had been a company town, owned by the monolithic 'Iron-Vein Corp.' The people were hollowed out, their lungs filled with dust and their spirits crushed by debt. Then came Julian. He arrived not as a savior, but as a...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Cost of Truth
    The rain in Los Angeles didn't wash anything away; it only made the filth shine. Elias sat in his car, the windshield wipers rhythmic and hypnotic, watching the target enter the hotel. Elias didn't need a telescope or a wiretap. He just needed to focus. He was an Information Broker, the best in the city. His gift was simple: he could extract any piece of truth from the ether. A password, a...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • THE CORNER PHARMACY
    The bell above the pharmacy door chimed at six in the morning, the way it always did, announcing another Tuesday in a Brooklyn neighborhood that was changing faster than anyone could keep up with. Marcus Lee stood behind the counter and watched Mrs. Glickman shuffle in from the second floor of the building across the street, her cardigan buttoned wrong and her slippers scuffing the sidewalk. He...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Mirror at the End of the Street
    The Mirror at the End of the Street Samuel Park was found dead in his office on the forty-third floor of the Registry building, and the cause of death was a synthetic fiber wound around his neck in a pattern so precise that the forensic technician called it a signature. Detective Marcus Cole stood over the body and tried not to think about how much the knot reminded him of things he had spent...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Double Life of Thomas Vance
    Thomas Vance opened the bookshop at nine in the morning and he closed it at six in the evening and he did exactly the same thing every day for three years. He straightened the books. He wiped the counter. He drank tea from a cup that said World's Best Bookseller in letters that were chipped and fading. He watched the people walk past the window and he thought about nothing. This was exactly...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 10 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • THE MIRROR IN THE BASEMENT
    ACT I: THE WINDOWLESS ROOM Lord Alistair Finch-Worthingham inherited Blackwood Park on a Tuesday in November, which seemed appropriate: Tuesdays were the kind of days on which serious things happened—inheritances, deaths, the slow realization that one's life has been a performance for an audience that stopped watching years ago. The house was exactly as one might expect a country house named...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Martyr of the Divide
    The city of Veridian was a scar on the map, split down the middle by a wall of concrete and electrified wire. To the East lay the Federation, a bastion of sterile order; to the West, the Republic, a chaotic sprawl of fading glory. Between them lived the spies, the traitors, and the men like Colonel Vance. Vance was a ghost who belonged to both sides and neither. For twenty years, he had played...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The mansion on blackwood hill
    The house had been dying for one hundred and fifty years, and Atticus Blackwood was its last physician. Or perhaps its last mourner. He was not sure which. Blackwood Manor stood on a hill above the Savannah River in South Carolina, a sprawling Victorian structure of faded white pillars and purple ivy that had grown over the cracks like a scar tissue trying to hold the building together. The...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Silver Angel
    Roland de Montfort first saw the Silver Angel on the night of the third crusade, outside the walls of Antioch, when the stars were sharp and the air smelled of woodsmoke and horse sweat. It descended from the sky without sound. There was no flash, no thunder, no cry of warning. One moment the night was dark, and the next moment it was silver—a sphere of polished metal, smooth as a mirror,...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 14 Visualizações 0 Anterior
Mais stories