The background noise of other museum patrons settled into a low buzz while Victory browsed the exhibit, until one voice cut through the crowd and sent a shock up her spine.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I know I’m later than expected. Did Dr. Duvall leave the archives key for me?”
Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.
But she was desperate to see the face that lived in memory and scant photographs. Jarimis, her progeny, the closest thing Victory ever had to a son before Kane.
“Thanks, chaps. I’ll drop them off here when I’m done.”
Victory locked her knees and gripped the lip of the stuffed mammoth’s information placard. As Jarimis left the security desk and passed through the rotunda, his coldness brushed the edge of her senses. She didn’t move, frozen in place by longing and fear. Longing to see
