Solitair vs. The Hugos 3: Ninefox Gambit

On the word “hands,” she unsheathed the combat knife, then retrieved her left glove. The knife was sharp in the way of bitter nights. Cheris made a show of sawing off each of the glove’s fingers in turn. They fluttered to the floor, looking like hollowed-out leeches. When she was done, it looked like a ragged imitation of Jedao’s fingerless gloves, the kind no one had worn since his execution.

The silence could have swallowed a star. Continue reading “Solitair vs. The Hugos 3: Ninefox Gambit”