Silent Whispers

Chen Mo was jolted out of his home by the shrill ring of his phone and rushed to an old building in Rubble Alley. Wang Guilan, 72, lay collapsed in her living room, with a hair-thin wound on the side of her neck, like one made by a scalpel. There were no signs of a struggle. The only thing out of place was an old radio with a red sign, endlessly playing harsh static.