The young woman standing on the beach had a dark mark on her throat. A cut, not a hanging. Wilom might have guessed mugging, but her clothes were unusual — made for practicality and nothing else. She wore a thick jacket over a plain shirt, and similarly thick trousers. Her shape was nearly entirely disguised under them. The un-light washed out all the colours, but it didn’t look like there were many to begin with. Those weren’t civilian clothes. Continue reading “Standing Watch”