Rows upon rows of glass windows, ten, twenty, forty floors down, a long way to fall before he would reach the cement below. It was a good thing that Hajoon wasn’t scared of heights, because he could enjoy the view for what it was, busy and suffocating, but dazzling all the same.  The sea was dyed with the red of …

The wind was ripe with the stench of blood—but whether it wafted up from another bounty of the sea dragged up onto the rickety Wharf, or the rotting corpse left by a poor fool’s debts catching up to them—no one seemed to care.  Or was it that no one stopped to look?  After all, violence was natural, and the stench …