“So, as long as it’s some twisted version of the truth, you’re okay with it?”
Cole pulls the black garbage bag out of the trunk then slams it closed and locks the car. “We save people. We make the city safer, and someone has to do it. It’s all pretty much the same thing.”
I shake my head. I want that to be enough, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. Mainly because I know the real problem is deeper than that. Deeper, darker, and every time I try to put my finger on it, it blurs, morphs, and skitters away like some metaphysical cockroach. “Can we stop dawdling and get this over with?”
As we approach the large Victorian mansion that houses our research headquarters, I trail behind Cole, watching the black bag, full of shattered artifact, swing in her hand. It’s like a mini-body bag exc
