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Chapter 45: Out of Character
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Chapter 47: Training Regimen
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... wasn’t with a quill and ink. All I could hear were the crickets outside, and the partially opened window showed only a glimpse of darkness.
I raised the parchment up against the candlelight. My cursive had been cursed back when I was John. But as Martin, my handwriting was immaculate—honed by years of writing ledgers and letters as a businessman.
That night, I wasn’t writing anything about the hacienda. The task had seemed impossible at first. But once I started, ideas and memori ...
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