Nico
The smell hit me before I even stepped inside.
That thick, cloying stench of rot and blood. Once you’ve smelled death like this, it never leaves you. It sinks into your clothes, into your skin, into the back of your throat until you can taste it.
Caelian was waiting just past the doors, jaw locked tight, eyes flat. Domani stood near him; he looked even paler. Like he was a second away from vomiting, and he has seen some gruesome s**t.
Then I saw them.
Ten black sacks were stacked against the far wall of the warehouse like discarded trash. The canvas was soaked through in places, dark and wet. Flies buzzed lazily in the heavy air.
Caelian crouched and unzipped the nearest one. The moment the flap fell open, I wished he hadn’t. A man’s face or what was left of it stared blankly
