Chapter 6 · free to read
They gave us forty minutes and a table you cannot lift.
He was proud of it. That was how I knew he was telling the truth.
Eleven years in a box, drawing what he saw. Nobody ever once asked him what it meant.
A young hand with a burn across the back of it. Meridian is a city of burned hands. I told myself that the whole way home.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.