Ace Up My Sleeve Novels & Stories

Just for a second, I catch a glimpse of it. A sleeve. Not the rolled-up forearm I’ve gotten used to. Not the usual hairy knuckles, grease-stained wrists, or chewed-up nails of the guy who usually drops my “meals” like he’s feeding a lion through a slot at the zoo. No. This one's a jacket. Sleek, dark, and tailored. There’s a crisp and pressed white cuff poking out from underneath it. And then… something else. A mark. I freeze. Scar? No.