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Rita

Rita thumbs back the hammer by way of introduction.

“Your answers are as follows,” says the chubby man behind the desk, without looking up. “We are the Numismata. He was one of us, and chose to leave. When they are finished with him he will die. We will not prevent this. Firing your gun at me would be an empty exercise.”

“What will it cost?” she asks. “To do what he could do?”

He does look up, at that, and he smiles. “All the color in the world,” he says. “All its warmth.”

IN GOD WE TRUST, say his copper eyes.

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