The Pale Tale
Chapter One I remember the taste of the rain on my tongue before I remembered the cold. It was the first mild evening of the new lease term, the kind where the air sits heavy and wet against the skin, pressing the dust into the cracks of the machiya tiles. I stood in the kitchen, the hand-cranked flashlight in one hand, the service revolver in the other. The flashlight was a relic from the old...
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