The Wistful Show
Chapter One Did you think the governor’s word was iron, or did you think it was paper? I stood in the cool shadow of the ancestral estate, the heat shimmering off the Anatolian steppe like a mirage that refused to break, and I waited for the men who had come to take what was mine. My daughter slept in the room adjacent to the guard post, her breathing a small, rhythmic sound that cut through...
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