The blood was still warm where it coated her skin. Crimson beads dripped slowly from her hair. She had even gotten some in her mouth; it tasted salty and metallic. When Tegan had seen her boss’s light on, she had only wanted to have a quiet word with her.
There was no one else around. It was the perfect time to bring up her completely reasonable complaint. But the woman was so stubborn and pig-headed! A soft noise made her turn, the scissors still gripped tight in her hand.
“Enjoying the Purge, hey?” the night cleaner asked.
“Enjoying the what?"
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alt="Heartwood by R.J. Cannon"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Denied by J.B. Corso"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Cold Recognition by Andreas Flögel"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Winter Feast by Pauline Yates"
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>