The Pale Echo
Act I Aiko Yamamoto’s fingers, stained with ink, moved across the ledger with a speed that betrayed her trembling hands. She was three years into her service, and the dampness of the Osaka air seeped into the joints of her left wrist, a phantom pain that had started the night her brother was taken. The police hierarchy called it hysteria, a feminine defect of the nervous system, but Aiko knew...
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