The Faded Quadrant
"Put the locket back in the drawer, Yelena. You are making a scene." I did not put it back. I held the silver against my cheek, where the metal was colder than the stone floor beneath my feet, humming with a static charge that made the fine hairs on my arm stand up and tremble. The air in the kitchen was heavy with ozone and old wool, a scent that had settled into the walls of our family home...
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