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The Wistful MirrorThe mop handle is slick with chemical residue, the plastic cold against your palm. You push it in long, wet arcs across the linoleum, the smell of bleach sharp enough to sting the eyes. The clinic is white. Everything is white. The walls, the floors, the ceiling tiles that hum with a low-frequency buzz that you feel in your teeth. You are Elias. You are forty-two. You used to draw buildings...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale EchoThe envelope weighed exactly four ounces. I knew because I had held it against the scale in the breakroom, a small brass thing with a cracked face, just to be sure. Director Halloway stood behind me, his tie pulled straight, his voice flat and dry as the dust on the shelf. "It’s morphine, Elias," he said. "Found in your truck. Sealed. Unmarked. Your fingerprints on the cap. That’s negligence,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AlibiThe ledger was heavy, its spine cracked and smelling of mildew, and Elias Thorne held it in the center of the town square as if it were a live coal. The midday sun beat down on the cobblestones, turning the air into a shimmering, oppressive wall that made it hard to breathe, but Elias did not look up at the sky. He looked at Mayor Halloway, who stood on the steps of the municipal building, his...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful GridThe iron bar was cold against my palm, slick with the condensation that gathered in the lower cells of Blackwood Keep, and I used it to pry the rusted hinge of my cell door, the metal groaning in a long, high-pitched shriek that echoed off the damp stone walls. I am Elias Thorne, Sergeant of the Fourth Border Company, and I have been confined here for nine days, waiting for the frost to set in...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RuinThe severed hand lay in my palm, cold and slick with the residue of its own blood. It was a grotesque thing, a stump of flesh tethered to my wrist by a single, pulsing strand of black sinew that throbbed in time with my pulse. I sat on the wet concrete of the border checkpoint, the rain hammering against the tin roof above me, and watched the cord tighten. I had tried to cut it free an hour...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant NightmareThe rain in the city does not fall so much as it presses against the glass, a relentless, gray hand smearing the world into a blur of neon and shadow. You are twelve years old, Elias, and the weight of the night is a physical thing, a heavy stone in your chest that mirrors the stone in Julian’s lungs across the street. You sit on the edge of your bed, the worn brass compass resting in your...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ShieldThe ledger lay open on the stone table, its columns of ink still wet from the morning’s tally. Twelve sacks of flour. Three barrels of salted pork. Fourteen head of cattle, though two were already coughing up black froth. Margaret Holloway counted the entries twice, her finger tracing the indents in the paper, the scratch of the quill a sharp sound in the silent hall. Outside, the light was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden DowntownThe quill scratched against the vellum with a sound like a dry leaf tearing, and Thomas Bradshaw did not look up from the ledger. His fingers were stained black with iron-gall ink, the pigment biting into the whorls of his skin, and he felt the familiar, cold friction of the parchment under his thumb. It was the hour of the wolf in the year of our Lord 1342, and the air in the scriptorium was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MazeThe iron key hung heavy in Kaelen’s fist, its teeth worn smooth by thirty years of turning locks that should have stayed shut. He stood in the frost-bitten square of Oakhaven, the year 1347 pressing down on him like a wet wool cloak, and the cold had settled into his joints with a dull, persistent ache. He was a knight of the Iron Guard, a title that meant little now to the hollow-eyed peasants...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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