“Never thought I’d be looking forward to my own death so much.” He sighed as he scribbled down the last name. The book I had used to find Wyatt now had Desmond’s neat handwriting on the very last page. He wrote down eighteen street names, in eighteen different countries. Well, at least I knew we could skip Germany. Seventeen places left to go.
“It is a privilege. Not many people get to choose how they go out.” I answered politely. “Trust me, it is better than slowly withering away in here.”
He handed me the book, which I tucked away in my bag. Desmond took one last look out of the opening of the cave. That view was all he had seen for the past sixty-five years, yet knowing it is your last time seeing it still didn’t make it any easier. He had been like me, like all the cave dwellers I ha
