Skinthief
I stiffen as the mold tightens around my body, compressing it into a different shape. My breath comes hot and fast. It’s not like I was wearing my own skin anyway, but that doesn’t stop me from panicking. My mold is in Vernon’s safe, locked away for when I have further use of it—meaning when I stop working for him. Which, at this rate, may be never.
The mold cracks open. I’m free and wearing a different skin.
“Come with me.” The officer doesn’t even blink.
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