The Pushed Games
I. The phone rang at three in the morning, which meant either an emergency or something worse. I knew which one it was by the way the voice on the other end hesitated before speaking—a voice I'd never heard but that carried the unmistakable tremor of someone who knew they were making a mistake by calling. "Mr. Corvin?" it said. "I need someone to look into something. Something about the Olympic...
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