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The FloodI. The river was rising. This was not news. The river was always rising in May. But this year it was rising faster than usual, and the men at the weather station were using words like "fifty-year event" and "possibly higher," which is the kind of news that makes you check your insurance and then pretend you did not. My name is Dale Rutherford. I am forty-two years old. I drive a truck. I lived...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 21 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Architect of SilenceThe city of Oakhaven was a masterpiece of symmetry and stone, a place where every street was a perfect arc and every building a testament to the order of the State. In Oakhaven, silence was not the absence of sound, but a civic duty. The citizens spoke in hushed tones, their lives choreographed by the Great Clock in the center of the plaza, which dictated when to wake, when to work, and when to...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 45 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Black SignalI. The rain had been falling on Los Angeles for three days when Mrs. Voss walked into my office. She wore a black dress that cost more than my car and a look on her face that said she had already decided I was not going to help her. "My husband is dead," she said. "The police say it was an accident. I do not." I looked at her. She was beautiful in the way that beautiful women in Los Angeles...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 13 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Obsidian BondIn the neon-drenched sprawl of San Junipero, where the rain tasted of copper and the skyscrapers were laced with holographic vines, Julian lived in the "Low-Light"—the subterranean layers of the city where the sunlight was a paid subscription and the law was a suggestion. He was a "Splicer," a black-market surgeon who could weave synthetic nerves into organic flesh, turning broken people into...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 29 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Long DownpourI. The rain had been falling for three days when the dam broke. Not a storm dam—a river dam. The Michigan River Levee, the one that kept the south side of Chicago from drowning every spring. It broke at two in the morning on a Thursday, and by morning, the south side was underwater. My name is Jack Morane. I am thirty-four years old. I am a private detective in Chicago. I wear an old trench...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 37 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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Blood and MagnoliasThe magnolias were blooming along the old plantation road, their white petals heavy and sweet as sin. I walked past them with my hands in my pockets and the memory of gunfire in my ears, trying to convince myself that the sound I heard in my head was just the wind moving through the trees. It wasn't. It never was. Oakhaven was the kind of town that existed in the space between memory and rot....0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 21 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Starlight InheritanceI. The stock ticker never stopped, and I had learned to love its relentless chatter the way a sailor loves the sound of waves—because it meant you were still alive, still moving, still somewhere between where you were and where you were going. I was twenty-six years old, and I worked on the forty-second floor of a building on Wall Street that smelled of cigarette smoke and ambition. My job was...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 51 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Keeper of Blackwood HallI awoke to the smell of smoke and the taste of ash. The last thing I remembered was the fire—how it had started in the server room of my Mayfair office, how the sprinklers had failed, how I had stumbled through the flames clutching nothing but the black amber pendant my grandmother had given me on my thirtieth birthday. I had been worth four hundred million pounds as of Tuesday morning. By...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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Whispers on the EstateThe heating in tower block seven broke on a Tuesday in November. By Thursday, the flat was cold enough that Sarah Murphy could see her breath indoors. She pulled her coat on inside and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders like a shawl and tried not to think about the bottle of whiskey in her cupboard. Manchester in 2008 was a city that had forgotten how to pretend. The financial crisis had...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 25 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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