Part I The air in Miami didn’t sit right on Raul Mercado’s skin. It wasn’t just the heat—he’d dealt with that during those strange, sweaty Pittsburgh summers when the air hung like wet laundry—but something else felt off. But despite his best efforts, he couldn’t quite...

You don’t forget the sound of a girl being swept downriver. You don’t forget the moment her scream cuts off, as if something grabbed her by the throat and pulled her into a place where sound doesn’t carry. But I’m getting ahead of myself. My name is...

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