The Faded Alibi
Christina Ioannidis gripped the brass rail as the packet ship pitched, the metal cold and slick against her palm, the rhythm of the hull knocking a steady, wet beat against her molars. She was thirty years old, a border guard with a surveyor’s compass in her breast pocket, the brass worn smooth by years of tracing lines that no longer existed. The ship cut through the grey water toward Keros,...
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