The Distant Wound
The ink was still wet on the ledger when I saw the mark, a small, jagged scar in the parchment that looked less like a mistake and more like a bite. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; the days in the Ministry of Civic Harmony had begun to bleed into one another, indistinguishable smears of gray light and humming machinery. I am a detective, or at least I wore the coat that said so,...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen