The answer came the way it always did, appearing in her mind without words or commands, just a feeling she couldn’t ignore, couldn’t resist. Without warning, she slapped the old man’s face. The hope crumbled, and depression rushed in to fill the cracks. She hated herself as the man turned and left the apartment. He’d spend the rest of the day searching for something to feed The Mouth, and if he didn’t make it back home before fatigue claimed him, he’d sleep on the ground, his pillow either dead grass or oil-soaked concrete.
It had to change. Tara knew it, and sometimes when she looked in Marco’s eyes—she couldn’t recall the last time they’d spoken—she could tell he knew it, too. The Mouth held too much control. From the moment it first spoke directly into their minds, it had taken over th
