Cane stood by the pedestal, his fingers curled around the canisters of glowing, amber serum. He was right; the clock was ticking.
But my curiosity took over once again.
"We need to know the 'why', Cane," I whispered, my voice echoing in the cold.
"Make it fast, Eloise."
I went further through the folder. The first thing I saw wasn't a military record, but a grainy, scanned police report from twenty-five years ago. A small town in the Appalachian foothills. The photos were black and white.
"It started with a slaughter," I murmured, scanning the lines.
"Silas was sixteen. Caspian was ten. Their parents were killed. A rogue pack tore through their farmhouse in the middle of the night. The report says the boys were found in the root cellar. Silas had pinned Caspian to the floor, cover
