The Wistful Crossroads
Chapter One "Get out before the water remembers your name," the magistrate hissed, his voice a dry rasp like sandpaper on rusted iron. Marisol Domínguez did not move, her fingers white-knuckled around the handle of her leather satchel, the weight of her treatise pressing against her hip like a second, heavier spine. The air in the courthouse lobby was thick with the stale tobacco smoke of the...
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