The Pale Bridge
What do you owe when the debt is written in a language no one speaks? Chapter One‌​⁠⁠‌‌‌​​‌⁠‌⁠‍​⁠​‌​​‌‍‍‌‍⁠​​​​​​​​​​​​​​‌‍‍⁠​⁠⁠​‌​‌‍‍‍‍​⁠​​⁠‍‍‌‌​⁠​⁠​‌​‍‌‌ I stood in the cold room of the gene-bank, the air so dry it cracked the skin on my lips, and held the orchid in my hands. The roots had burst through the terracotta pot, tangling with my phone, which was ringing with a call from Dr. Vega. I...
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