Chapter 11 · free to read
I let a thief sleep in my shrine. He paid rent the only way thieves ever do — in ugly truth.
I came here to fight cruelty. Cruelty gets tired. Bookkeeping never does.
Sota reads a page the way I read a fistfight. He found the knife in it before any of us.
My mother has been awake nine days. She still walks like the floor gets a vote.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.