The Hound's Witness
The world is a map of smells. The smell of wet asphalt, the metallic tang of fear, and the scent of the girl—cloves, old paper, and a sharp, acidic edge of determination. My name is Buster, and I am the only one who knows how the girl became a blade. The city is a concrete jungle where the weak are eaten. The girl, whom the humans called Maya, was the weakest of all. She was a scrap of a thing,...
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