The last message I scheduled was for Miles.
Isla: Blake is in Hilton, Room 1208. The key card is in Locker 7 at the front desk.
When I finished typing, my finger still hurt.
That was where Blake had bitten me, and the bite mark had not faded.
I turned off my phone and left with my suitcase.
The owner of the grocery store downstairs greeted me when I passed.
"Isla, are you leaving town?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Going home."
But I did not have a home.
When the taxi got onto the highway, I looked back at the city.
The buildings rose into the night, their windows lit one after another like thousands of small, unreachable stars. Behind every square of light, someone seemed to have a place to return to. Someone seemed to be waiting for their loved ones to come home.
No one had ever waited fo
