“I run a cargo ship, Xyn. Why in the hells did you call me for this?”
The round little Ixthian put down his datadex and scowled. He wiped sweaty silver hands down the front of his…
His palette was black night and red blood and sharp, broken white bones. His music was muffled screams and the sound of bodies hitting the floor. He stared down at his canvas of twisted bodies and broken glass.
“Why are you hurrying home? No one there for you!”
“Mum’s working out late again, yeah? I got some work for her in my pants,” said another one of Sullis’ friends. The gap-toothed teen thrust his hips…
Maeve crouched on the roof’s edge like an undersized white-winged gargoyle, watching the other Arcadians march back and forth far below. They held signs over their heads and waved them urgently at passing drivers. Maeve couldn’t read…