The Ties that Bind
My fingers tingled, drawing heat from the ceramic mug clasped in my hand. A chipper cup, colourful and loud, boasting an explosion of floral offensiveness that belonged in a goddamn Disney movie. Where was the mug that stated ‘Hi, I’m fucked’? That would have been a cup more suited to me. Across the room, Young Blue sat on the edge of a red sofa, head in hands, feet tapping a manic tune under his precinct-issued boots. The guy looked like his skin might crawl clear off his carcass if left to stew in his own juices much longer.
“Can I get you anything to make you more comfortable?” Steve asked, approaching my chair.
“A clue,” I said. “Giving me a fucking...
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