I was in the Justicar’s office when the bell tolled to announce the approach of a visitor. “It is the superintendent,” the intercom buzzed. “She is not waiting.” My heart sank with despair as I eyed the practice rifle sitting on the Justicar’s desk. Two moments of awkward, knee-shivering silence were split by the her iron voice. “Imik, you understan…
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2 years ago · 3 likes · Jonathan McAdam Fisk
