Chapter 9 · free to read
He wrote in the order he lit them. I read in the order he lit them. I never once read in the order I closed them.
Nineteen fires. Two readings. He signed his grief in one hand and named his killer in the other, and I filed the accusation nineteen separate times.
Under the order, so far down you had to want to hear it, Silas was still counting. Fourth floor. Fourth floor. Sixteen.
The night clerk stood there through all nine minutes of it. I remember thinking she had the look of somebody hearing a voice she knew.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.