The Faded Paradox
What is the price of a hand that is not there? Dariush Jafari woke with the phantom digit throbbing, a specific, grinding pain in a finger that had been gone since the ice-cutter’s blade slipped three winters ago. He was thirty-two, a clerk in the shadow of the new administrative building, a structure that cast a long, jagged silhouette across the pearling coast plain. The haze from the fires...
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