Later that evening, after the neighbors had dispersed and the quiet hush of the tropical night settled over Emerald Hill, Kenneth and Alana stepped inside the restored salon of the shophouse. The air smelled delightfully of fresh dammar varnish, beeswax polish, and aged Burmese teak. Alana climbed the wooden ladder to the upper mezzanine, carrying a brass cleaning tool to inspect the central mortise joint where she had extracted the…
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