The Golden Circuit
"Put the needle down, Marisol. You’re bleeding gold again." Chapter One The needle hovered over the weave, trembling in Marisol Orozco’s hand, and the thread of the Golden Circuit snapped against her palm with a sound like a dry twig breaking in a silent room. She was forty years old, a master weaver in the drowned cities of Buenos Aires, where the harbor mud still clung to the foundations of...
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