Chapter Twelve
Alistair shambled back home in the rain. Soaked through in minutes, she barely noticed, her mind preoccupied with absorbing, dissecting, and trying to make sense of what Bolden had told her. There were others. Others who not only remembered the books, but who had come back home the same day she did.
Hours later, she was kicking herself for not interrupting, for not asking the hundred questions pinballing in her brain now. How did Bolden know what happened to her? What exactly had Bolden learned over the past decade? Why couldn’t she just tell her?
Finally, back in her cave, Alistair left her dripping coat to soak the floor by her front door. She walked to the window, staring at the box on the windowsill, willing her ice-cold hands to pick it up, afraid that she would open
