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He wrote a spy novel.She wanted to live one.They accepted the game. A game with no board, no rules, and no way out.They staged a mission. Maybe. Maybe not.What began as a game between a burned-out writer and a woman on the edge of collapse quickly spiraled-into a VHS tape, into letters, into cities, into skin, into silence. Cádiz, Tangier, Venice, Scopello: each place a trap, each letter a code, each touch a possible betrayal.Between fiction and reality, between pleasure and guilt, between farewell and return, the narrator drags himself through roads, beds, and wounds, searching for the woman...
He wrote a spy novel.She wanted to live one.They accepted the game. A game with no board, no rules, and no way out.They staged a mission. Maybe. Maybe not.What began as a game between a burned-out writer and a woman on the edge of collapse quickly spiraled-into a VHS tape, into letters, into cities, into skin, into silence. Cádiz, Tangier, Venice, Scopello: each place a trap, each letter a code, each touch a possible betrayal.Between fiction and reality, between pleasure and guilt, between farewell and return, the narrator drags himself through roads, beds, and wounds, searching for the woman who agreed to go undercover with him-and maybe never came back.Because some people run.Some stay.And some play.This book is for the last kind.
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