The Hitman in Paris

Man who only exists in time fragments used as asset in city where outcomes are priced in.

The café on Rue Saint-Denis refreshed itself every eighteen minutes. Chairs shifted back into place. Cups vanished. A waiter reappeared with a different face. Caleb "booted" at a small round table beside the window, hands already wrapped around a cooling espresso he did not remember ordering. Outside, Paris slid past...

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