Charlie
Utter joy rushes through my body when The High Council plane’s engines hum to life. I sit in the same windowless window seat, Maxwell’s statue like body next to me. As we soar into the sky, I can’t help but to be glad that we’re leaving the Posthotel Rattenberg behind…forever preferably.
Maxwell’s ice-cold fingers graze my cheek pulling me away from my wandering mind. “Yes?”
With a flick of his wrist, my phone comes into view. His fingers clutch down on it, leaving fingerprints on the screen. With manic relief I harshly rip it out of his hand and instantly turn it on. Dread and fear turn my annoyed attitude into something more, much more. “Thirty-six missed calls…fifty text messages. I didn’t think it was possible to make things worse, but congratulations, you’ve done it.” Under
