Ketubah

The terrace of the large coffee house in Berlin was almost empty, save for the occasional occupied table. The season had already turned autumnal. The weather was unpredictable, and the air carried a…

Fabius Lind’s days are running out in blood. Red serpents of failures empty his veins. In his head—white muddy stains. Confusion. And a heavy load on his heart. He could have . . . He could have . .…