Every Tuesday costs him something. He never remembers what.
A private detective takes an ordinary missing-person case and follows it to a club with no sign on the door — and to the woman behind its bar, who serves him a drink he never ordered and a bill he never signed.
Every Tuesday he pays. Every Wednesday the night is gone, and he wakes with evidence against himself: ash, a receipt, a scratch he cannot place. The case is simple. The client is not. And the deeper he digs into a stranger's disappearance, the closer he comes to the one file he has avoided his whole life — his own.
The novel The Flaw is coming. Leave your email and you'll know the release date before anyone else. Nothing else — no noise.