The Wistful Grid
"Get out of here, Vane, before I have you locked in the same cell as the rats." The guard’s voice was flat, bored by the repetition of the request, but Arthur Vane did not move. He stood in the corridor of the state penitentiary, his fingers white-knuckled around a folded piece of paper that felt like a weapon. It was a letter of recommendation, forged with such care that the ink smelled of...
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