The Devil's Own Hands

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2026-06-11 02:19:31 -

New Orleans, 1948. The humidity didn't lift that summer so much as it surrendered, sinking into the brickwork of the French Quarter like a drunk who finally admitted he wasn't going home. Jack Merriweather knew the feeling. He'd been sinking for three years, since the Navy spat him out in Charleston with a corpsman's certificate and a head full of morphine protocols he'd never had time to learn...

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