Long ago, when I was a child, like you, my grandfather told me about the wind. He pointed to a willow whose branches were dancing in the breeze and asked me what I heard. “Just the wind,” I answered. He smiled and ran his hand acr

Gaston could remember the first time he set eyes on Deno. He'd gone into the back of the house to enquire after a lost order and found himself face to face with the dish washer, a man in his late 20s, dual heritage, tall, staring eyes and dangling useless hands. The…