LYRE
The trail's not cold. It's frigid. Cryogenically sealed in regret and futility.
I knew this place would be empty before we even turned onto the access road, but thoroughness is one of the many lessons learned over agonizing centuries. It means checking every lead, even the ones that reek of wasted time.
Better to knock out the possibilities now, before they come back to spirit you into another dimension for three weeks, four days, seventeen hours and eleven minutes.
Those are memories I'd rather not revisit. Or experience again.
Jack-Eye gets out first, stretches his long frame like he's been folded into an origami wolf for too long. The others follow. And me? I'm too irritated to even open the damn door.
I already know what's inside.
Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I stare at the front door, wondering exactly how hard the restrictions would hit if I went on a rampage here.
It's tempting. Oh, so fucking tempting.
