Àwọn Àmì-ìwé Tí A Fẹ̀

One of his men, doing a routine sweep of the hospital wing, sent a photograph. In it, Maria's office door was propped open by two gold bars arranged side by side on the floor. A child of perhaps seven was sitting on the examination table, arm extended, watching with enormous eyes as Maria wrapped a splinted forearm with efficient, careful hands. The gold was holding the door against the draft from the hallway. Nothing more. Nothing less. Seo-jun looked at the photograph for a very long time. The