ISLE OF SHADOWS
Two dozen tiny spider legs crawled up Samira Desta’s nape. She planted a placeholder finger on her file of evidence and blinked as her focus adjusted over the rolling red and gold Tuscan fields, their folds in charcoal shadow like an unshaken quilt. Cypress trees: check. Cows: check. Paranoia: check. She rubbed the back of her neck. Nothing there, of course. Not a Sangiovese grape out of place in paradise.
FULL EXTRACT COMING SOON
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