The Diamond Protocol
Cara Beth DuBois sat on a wooden stool in the Randolph mansion's sewing room, her grandmother's hands resting on her own—small, wrinkled, stained with the lavender soap she used every evening without fail. Her grandmother had died three months ago, and the absence of those hands was a physical thing, like standing in a room and realizing the lamp had been turned off. The sewing room was on the...
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