CHAPTER 103
"We're on a time crunch," Cooper pressed for the fourth time in half as many minutes. He tapped his foot against the linoleum floors of Calla's kitchen, his eyes darting over his shoulder, toward the front door. "I know," Calla snapped, shoving the station's blueprints into her ratty backpack. She'd poured over the blueprints for two days now, walking through the layout and trying to match it with her brief, incomplete memories of the old concrete building. Getting her hands on the blueprints had been surprisingly easy; she'd simply emailed the local library and requested a copy of the originals. The documents were supposedly for her presentation on 1900s architecture. As if she'd ever write a paper on the architecture of this town. Please. Calla made for the kitchen sink and
- Writer
