Beneath the Unseen Sky

Previously

…He looked at the woman in the locket again. Her scar, her kind eyes. He felt a flicker of recognition, a memory struggling to surface. He closed the tin, the weight of it heavy in his hands. The pieces were starting to align, but the picture was still fragmented, the shadows still deep. Mary Miller was not a victim in the traditional sense. She was a player, a pawn, or perhaps even a queen, in a game he was only just beginning to understand. And the anonymous note writer, whoever they were, was his reluctant, enigmatic informant. The game, it seemed, was far from over. It was, in fact, just beginning.