I Survived Their Assault — Then I Took Back My Life and Made Them Face Justice
In the scorched hills of Sonora, 1913, the revolution had already swallowed everything good. Soldiers rode through villages like locusts — taking food, horses, and whatever else they desired. When they left, they left ghosts. Diego Vargas had once been a blacksmith. His forge was small but steady, a place where men came for horseshoes…
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