The Distant Crown
Act I "Seventy-one of the Salt Gate is closed," the landlord said, tapping the repo order on the truck's hood with a calloused finger. "The bank takes the wheels, Guadalupe. You have until Friday." Guadalupe Valenzuela did not look at the paper. He looked at his hands, the skin rough and mapped with the white lines of lichen, the knuckles swollen from twenty years of adjusting gears in the...
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