This Shattered Vessel, Which Holds Only Grief
ShortStory 6,468 words
"Cassie pulls her hood low over her forehead, keeps her eyes on the ground ahead of her. She wears face paint meant to fool facial recognition algorithms, though the cops think she’s dead. Her friends are. She should be. She circles the block twice, lingers at a corner, and when she’s as sure as she can be that she hasn’t been followed, she knocks on the unmarked door."
Content warnings 3
self-harmtransphobiaviolence
Quasar links out; the story lives on Apex, where the author gets the click.