Caspian faced the porch, waiting. He meant for me to follow him. “I don’t have all day,” he said.
“We can talk here,” I responded. He descended the porch with his car keys in his hand. I stepped out and closed the door. “Why can’t we talk here and get it over with?” I have Atlanta's dried blood in my pocket...
“I want to go somewhere else,” he said, turning his car on. Her blood is in my pocket, dammit. “Like a restaurant or something.” My mind took a sharp turn, away from Atlanta or her lump of a sample. For a second, a jarring feeling hit me, a feeling of hope. Was he asking me…? “Get in the car. It’s already late.”
The sky was dull, the type of dullness it had right before the sunset. The days were shortened and the nights became longer. I sat in the passenger seat, buckling up befor
