The Nightingale’s Judgment

The birdcage on the top floor of the bell tower has rusted for thirty years. The thing locked inside isn’t a nightingale, but three hundred recordings of crimes. The moment Lin Wan turns the key, her own voice comes through the speakers: “I admit it. I killed them.” Lu Chen stands in the shadows, wiping down his pistol. “So you finally remember? The one who voted to execute your father ten years ago was you, at seven years old.”