PREVIEW
... ong the lemon leaf, her wedding band catching the morning light. Twenty stories up, with the city sprawled below us like a scattered collection of gleaming jewels and concrete monoliths, and somehow this tiny garden felt more treacherous than any yakuza territory I’d navigated in my previous life.
"There’s an old saying," I began, methodically working the soil with the trowel she’d handed me, buying precious seconds to calibrate my approach. "In the garden of life, some grow flowers, oth ...
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