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179 Publicações
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01/03/1970
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Blood on the Red ClayThe rain had been falling on Mississippi for seven days when Cell Monroe returned to Clover County, and by the eighth day the red clay roads had turned to rivers of mud that swallowed carriage wheels up to their axles and made every journey feel like a negotiation with the earth itself. Cecilia Monroe had not planned to come back. At thirty-two, she had built a life in Memphis--a small...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça o login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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The Anatomy of BeautyThe thing about beauty, Dr. Alistair Grey had written in a letter to no one in October 1891, is that it demands a price. The thing about medicine is that it collects it. The question is whether the collector and the demander are the same person, and if they are, whether the person collecting knows that he is demanding. Alistair sat in his study on Bloomsbury Square, surrounded by books on...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Magnolia NebulaThe fog rolled off the Mississippi every evening in June, thick and warm and smelling of wet earth and something older, something that lived in the clay beneath the cotton fields. It had been three days since Grandfather died, and Eleanor Tuttle was still trying to understand what that meant. Silas Tuttle had been a peculiar man. To the people of their small town in southern Mississippi, he was...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Colonial GambitAct I: The Spark Victoria Sterling made her first million at twenty-four and her first billion at twenty-eight. She was a strategist for Sterling Capital, a hedge fund that specialized in "asymmetric opportunities"—a polite term for betting on the collapse of other people's dreams. She was sharp, ruthless, and beautiful in the way that a knife is beautiful: functional, precise, and dangerous....0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE SIGNAL FROM LILY BRENNANThe office was on State Street, third floor of a building that smelled of boiled cabbage and old plumbing and the faint, sweet-sour smell of whiskey that seeped up from the bar downstairs. It was a small office—just a desk, a chair, a filing cabinet that stuck when you pulled the second drawer, and a window that looked out over a brick wall so close I could touch it if I leaned far enough out...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE LAST WALLThe stone was cold beneath Edward's gloved hands. He ran his palm along the face of it, feeling for the cracks his predecessors had spent a thousand years cataloguing. There were none today. The wall held. It always held. Edward Blackthorne, seventieth Lord Keeper of the Morvayne Ramparts, walked the parapet at midnight, as he had every night for twelve years. The moon was a sliver of bone in a...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Shrine KeeperDave Kowalski was fifty-eight years old and retired from the steel mill in 2019, when the mill closed and three thousand people lost their jobs and Pittsburgh lost another piece of itself. Dave had worked the mill for thirty-two years, and when it closed, he had gone home and sat in his basement and stared at the wall for three weeks. His wife had been sick during those three weeks, sick in a...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Patient from BelowACT I: THE SIGNAL Dr. Vivian Marsh first noticed the pattern on a Tuesday night, during the kind of shift that makes you question every life decision that led to you standing in a hospital corridor at 2 AM holding a cup of cold coffee. She was a third-year neurosurgery resident at Massachusetts General—twenty-nine years old, first generation college, the only person in her family who had ever...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Peak of BreathThe sanctuary was a spire of glass and gold, perched on the highest peak of the Swiss Alps, where the air was so thin it felt like drinking needles. Here, the 'Apex' lived—the few humans who had achieved the ultimate biological state. Julian was the youngest of the Apex. He had been born into the privilege, his DNA edited from the embryo to ensure a lifespan of five hundred years. He was a...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Last Truce of the Trenches(Act I: The Spark) The mud of the Ardennes was not earth; it was a hungry, grey soup that swallowed men whole. I was fourteen years old when they gave me the silver braids of a Colonel and told me I was the tactical genius of the Third Army. My soldiers were children, some as young as nine, their oversized helmets slipping over their eyes as they huddled in the freezing rain. We were the 'Lost...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Last Sentinel of OrizonThe wind on the edge of the world sounded like a choir of the dead. Kael stood on the obsidian ramparts of Orizon, the last floating city, watching the clouds drift over the blackened husks of the continents below. He remembered the taste of victory. He remembered the day he had planted the banner of the Eternal Empire on the highest peak of the last resisting mountain. He had been the Golden...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Developer's DreamThe world was perfect. That was the problem. Selina Voss floated above Iteration 11 like a goddess who had forgotten she was supposed to be human. Below her, the city of glass and light stretched in every direction - not the flat, rendered city of Iteration 1, where the buildings were simple extrusions and the NPCs walked predetermined paths, but something alive and breathing and impossibly...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 905 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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