22 Thorne
“War is always best fought with brothers, not between them.” – Wu Zhao Zetain, The Art of Sentient War
A few hours later, Justice, Slate and I stand in the ruined lobby of a different apartment building. After the fight with Cole, that last building had too many bad memories. Not that this place looks much different. Smashed-up reception desk. Fetid furniture. That said, the windows here are mostly cracked and boarded over, so that’s a change.
My brothers have just stepped through the drift void; we haven’t even said our greetings yet. Once again, their outfits remind me of a cowboy and preacher from the Old West. I’m about to start my hellos when in a surprise move, Slate is first to speak.
As always, younger brother says one word: “Picture.”
I pull on my ear. It’s a reflex
