And this time, the story it told would not belong to him.
Outside, the city moved as if nothing had shifted. People walked dogs, hailed cabs, bought coffee. They had no idea that beneath the surface, a symbol etched in blue black ink was about to ignite something far more dangerous than a gunshot in a back room. I swept the glass from the floor and set the custom machine on the tray. Its metal gleamed under the shop lights, patient and waiting.
