The Distant Blade
Act I The city held its breath under a sky that had not cleared in seven days. Pensri Wongwiset stood at the window of his cramped apartment on the second floor of a building at ninety-six of NineElm Crossing, watching the rain lash sideways against the glass, a physical weight that pressed against the cheap vinyl panes. He was thirty-two years old, and the debt he owed to the moneylenders was...
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