The Wistful Silence

added blog Literature

2026-08-25 08:53:09 -

Encarnacion Uribe wiped the blood from his knuckles with a rag that had once been white, the wet season rain drumming against the corrugated roof of the stockroom where he had hidden. He was thirty-two, a veteran guard for the port authority, but his hands shook now, not from the cold, though the damp was a physical weight that seeped into his bones, but from the memory of the blade singing...

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