The Distant Whispers
"Put it back on the counter, Refugio. I don't want to have to call the police on you." The voice belonged to Elena, the pawnshop manager, and it carried the flat, bureaucratic weight of a denial letter, the kind that had buried Refugio’s life under a pile of red stamps and fine print. He stood behind the glass counter, his hand still resting on the rusted iron key, its teeth worn smooth by...
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