Chapter 14 · free to read
Fourth in nine days. The twin was in a cell for all four and I was on a precinct camera for three of them. Somebody else had the pen.
Voss wound to the hour. The bodies died on the hour. Only one clock in this entire city said 4:04, and it was strapped to my wrist.
Lot two-eleven had a photograph in the catalogue. A page of Voss's hand, reproduced at full size, printed in a book anybody could buy.
It was still warm. In a gallery under a foot of tide, in a building shut for eleven years, the chain was still warm.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.