Curt withdrew the fairy phone from his pocket, and scrolled through the small list of contacts there – and of that small list, only one had the near-universal star indicating that it was a favourite contact: Cresta Lan Oca, better known as Carmichael.
The voice again. The Stef-that-wasn’t-Stef. The voice of the voice in her head. The other person in the room trying to save her life.
Curt stiffened, his muscles heavy and straining with all the pain of a flight-or-fight response, except there was nothing to fight, nothing that he could put down with a shot, a knife, or a well-placed insult.
He held her as tightly as he could, trying to hold her, tether her the the world, like in the morgue, like in the infirmary. Pulling her back one was thing, holding her here was another. Continue reading “66 – The Pieces Left Over”
Stef looked to the bathroom door. ‘Coming?’
Curt opened the door, already halfway dressed. ‘Coming.’ He tossed his jacket to her as he stepped into his shoes, and began to button up his shirt as he followed her out of his room.
‘How bad?’ she asked Ryan as they stepped into the waiting lift.
‘We know where they are,’ he said, ‘so that’s something.’ Continue reading “31 – Any Means Necessary”
The building looked innocuous enough.
‘Are you sure that’s the place?’ Stef asked.
‘I’ve been here at least a dozen times,’ he said, ‘yeah, we’re at the right place.’
‘Then what are we-’
He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Wait here for a minute, newbie?’ Continue reading “18 – Sugar and Spice”