The Pale Echo
Chapter One Who else in Minato has ever seen a hand turn white while the flesh stays warm? I ask because I am the only one left with the file, and the file is heavy, smelling of damp wool and the rust that eats the hinges of the requisitioned schoolhouse where we keep our records. The spring flood had come early, swelling the harbor until the water lapped at the cobblestones of the main street,...
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