Behind us lay the construction site, but ahead, the Southern District’s main drainage stretched out like the throat of a beast, wet and echoing.
Cane didn't move immediately. He stood by the Wraith, his hand resting on the handlebars, his amber eyes cutting through the gloom. The scars on his chest seemed to glow with a ghostly light in the pitch-black, a byproduct of the serum his body had repurposed into primal power.
"Do you feel that?" he whispered. His voice vibrated in the hollow space, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
I adjusted the strap of my 9mm, my pulse a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
"Feel what?"
"The silence," Cane said.
"It’s not empty. It’s waiting."
"The ride through the Veins to the silo... it’s not like the streets, Eloise,"
