The Last Supper at Blackwater
The body arrived at St. Mary's on a Tuesday, wrapped in wet burlap and smelling of river mud and something sweeter underneath, like overripe peaches left in the sun. Evelyn Thorne was working the night shift, which meant she was working the only shift that mattered, because days belonged to the living and their endless demands for certificates and bouquets and polite lies about how peaceful the...
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