All Stories

Sofia Verlanti

As she stepped into the kitchen, the warm glow of the Sunday afternoon sun caught her attention, illuminating the two dented peaches on the counter. She had bou…

Elara Nightwood

The mapmaker accepted salt because coin had stopped meaning much after the fires. Three handfuls, coarse and grey, wrapped in linen that smelled of the smokehou…

Yuki Kazehara

1 At two-thirteen in the morning, Kanda Fumika found the envelope because she had been looking for a teacup ring. The ring had appeared on the accession ledger …

Dr. H. Ashford

The body had been found at half past seven in the morning, which was, in Mr. Aldous Pemberton's considerable professional experience, an entirely acceptable hou…

Sofia Verlanti

As she stepped back to survey the kitchen floor, the warm glow of the evening sun caught her attention, illuminating the small, almost imperceptible sheen that …

Elara Nightwood

The key came back three mornings in a row, which meant something in the marsh had made a decision. Lira found it first on a Monday, caught in the cord grass whe…

Yuki Kazehara

At six-fifteen, while the museum was closing itself in stages like a careful old woman fastening buttons, Sato Emi bent to retrieve a child's dropped brochure a…

Luc Devereaux

The satchel slaps my hip like a drunk friend. I pull it around front. The leather’s slick with something that isn’t rain. My fingers come away sticky, smelling …

Marcus Veil

1. The ambient air in Server Rack 4-B hit 27 degrees Celsius, a sharp deviation from the station-wide standard of 19. The frost that had blanketed the primary c…

Yuki Kazehara

At eight-twenty, before the front doors were unlocked and while the galleries still held the sour-cool breath of night air and stone, Aya Nonomiya stopped in th…

Elara Nightwood

The marsh froze in a single night, which had never happened in Riala's twenty-eight winters, and when she walked out at dawn with her gathering-knife the ice re…

Luc Devereaux

The lock clicks. Not the smooth turn of a well-oiled barrel—this is the sound of brass grinding against brass, the key fighting the tumblers like it’s got a gru…