I push the door open wider, stepping inside the shed first because that's what you do when you're second-in-command. Take point. Assessment. Protection. All that shit.
Definitely not because I want Lyre noticing how I can take care of her, even if she's the strongest person in this motley little crew of ours.
The rush of lemon hits my nostrils again, but underneath it—
"Fuck."
A body sprawls across the concrete floor, limbs at all the wrong angles like someone dropped him from a height. The position is too awkward, too unnatural. Like he tried to curl up before the end.
"What is it?" Andrew calls from behind me.
I don't answer right away, my focus locked on the corpse. There's no blood. No signs of a fight. Just this kid—a Fiddleback—dead on the floor. And I know him.
The more disturbing thing, though, is how Lyre's acting. She got weird the second we reached the door. Tense in a different way than before, and no longer interested in what's inside.
