The Distant Clue
Act I Enzo Gentile remembered the silver clasp first, the way a drowning man remembers the surface, not the water. He stood in the shadow of the church bell tower, the air thick with the smoke of roasting pork and the sharp, metallic tang of the canal water lapping against the stone pilings. The feast was in full swing, a chaotic sea of laughter and clinking glasses, but Enzo saw only the rigid...
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