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She asked, “It was the day before the Flash, wasn’t it? When Caesar tried to kill us?” Morgan looked startled. “How did you know?” There were pictures in Lu’s mind, a series of images she’d carried with her for as long as she could remember. The images had always seemed nonsensical, a collage of unrelated items, like photos pasted into a scrapbook: a snapshot of a man with black hair and midnight eyes, standing atop the crenellated tower of a crumbling kasbah in the desert, staring up at the star-dusted sky; the same man clutching a tiny baby to his chest in a strangely elegant tree house in the darkest heart of a jungle, his face twisted with rage; a long, wavering line of pinprick lights that weren’t stars twinkling on the morning horizon; a soundless flight over a landscape of emerald
- Writer
