26. Trojan Bat
Mina
There was nothing that could be done about it now.
Fixating on the blood all over Greg’s shirt wouldn’t coax it back into his chest.
Letting his vacant eyes obscure my vision of the tunnel ahead wouldn’t make those pupils contract and focus and shine again.
Picturing Julie suspended in her replication pod, waiting to escape through that same tunnel where the news lay waiting for her in a cold, sticky heap, wouldn’t help me navigate that route in reverse.
Locusta could extend her touch telepathy through the living dust of the Sliver Warehouse, which meant there was every chance either Eric or Madison’s alarm had already been heard.
There was no time to argue the moot details of when or why Greg had slipped irretrievably beyond our reach.
No time to let the weight
