Blood and the Glass Sky
I. The swamp breathed. That was the only way Bell Thorne could describe it—a slow, wet inhalation that rose from the black water and clung to the cypress knees like a shroud. The air smelled of rot and magnolia, of things dying and things blooming in the same breath, of a place that had swallowed history and was still digesting it. Dr. Seraphina DuBois had been coming to this observatory for...
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