CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
just a mirage
I unlock my cabin door and step in, and immediately I know I’m not sleeping here tonight. It smells sour and sad, and everything within reminds me of last night, of brilliant but batshit-crazy Iona dying in my bed. And even though I’m beyond the point of exhaustion—when was the last time I closed my eyes for more than a catnap?—I’m wired.
In seven hours, we’re leaving to rescue Finan.
Barring any unforeseen natural disasters or acts of the gods—or broken deals from vengeful drug lords—by this time tomorrow night, he will be safe in the arms of everyone who loves him.
Please let him still be whole.
I mean that in every sense of the word.
With my bed gone, everything that was under it has been tossed into garbage bags, just in case Iona was infectious.
