Murder On The Yangtze River

The rain worked the window like it had a grudge. I sat at my desk in a cramped office, coat still on, lamp buzzing, the city outside dripping neon and regret. Cold crept in through the walls, settling in my bones like it planned to stay awhile. I was nursing a bad cup of coffee and worse thoughts when I remembered—quiet never lasts in this town. It just waits for the door to open.