/0/78843/coverbig.jpg?v=3af55dd1d103b7e51122dc437d96d511)
Geneva wore its winter like a fine shroud-quiet, polished, and suffocating.
The jet touched down just before dawn. Fog blanketed the runway, casting the entire tarmac in a ghostly pallor. Isla had never been to Switzerland before, but everything about the city felt sterile-like a place where crimes were washed clean before anyone noticed the blood
COPYRIGHT(©) 2022