The Distant Wound
Chapter One Mercedes Figueroa had not slept in three days, a fact that made the weight of her service pistol feel less like duty and more like a leaden anchor dragging her toward the mud. The fog in the badlands of Andalusia was not merely weather; it was a physical substance, a grey sludge that coated the olive groves and seeped into the joints of the old stone walls that defined the border of...
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