The Faded Quadrant
The rain in the Oaxacan valley does not wash; it erodes. It wears the stone down to a spit, leaving the world raw and exposed. Chapter One‌​⁠⁠‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‍​‍​‍‌⁠​‍‍‍​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​‌⁠‍⁠​​‍⁠⁠‌‌‍‍‍‍​⁠‌​​‌‌​‍⁠⁠​‍‌​‍⁠‌‌ November, the light failing early. Guadalupe Orozco stands in the courtyard of the Ministry, the wet stone beneath her feet radiating a heat that defies the chill. She holds the forged...
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