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Well? she asks, raindrops spraying from her lips. Have I got a nose for this stuff or what? No, but from the way Calvins talking, it may not be the Dakota we know hes dealing with. Samara wiped her lips and chin, making sure all traces of the paint were gone. Under the glow of the streetlight as they passed beneath, she examined the smudge of black on her fingers. She pulls back. Looks at the image her sweat has created. Sees a butterfly: two symmetrical wings patterned with circles, captured mid-flight. She leans in and draws eyes in the condensation with a bruised knuckle. Crafts a garish smile. Daubs imperfect teeth. Tusks. Smears the imprint into something vague and grotesque, a mess of meandering tracks and over-spilling features, trickling into and over one another. Sees wrinkles gathering at eyes, running into nose, mouth, dripping, blooming, to puncture and trickle into nothingness. Here you go, says Julie, handing him her phone. Thats the piece she wrote for us. Violet, I mean. It might be useful. Very powerful. The girl ungraciously swept the thick brush across Samaras eyes, blanking out her own focussed face. The thick layer suffocated, like tight cellophane pressed over her nose and mouth. The creatures that longed to escape over her lips and teeth became trapped, squirming beneath the whitewash. Memory hits her like a wave. What did they offer? he asked, ignoring Laras passionate description. Ylandra! Ariah cried out in a voice that should have shaken the mountain. Stop this, Sect Mother. Jeren is here to see her destiny and embrace the life of Shistra-Phail. Why were they helping him? He didnt know. He didnt care. Ylandra? He whispered her name and couldnt keep the weight of pity from his voice. She flinched at the sound, but didnt withdraw, almost as if she didnt dare to. 27 The photo attached to the left-hand side caught his attention. It was the first before-Salyer picture hed seen. Hed been right. She had passion in her eyes. They also held laughter. He would bet that weeks pay that Max had taken the picture, or someone who knew her and cared about her. She’d been younger then too. With her looks and money, he had to wonder why she’d become a cop. He reached for the glass and downed the remaining liquor, grimacing as he began to read. One thing was clear from the beginning—the psychiatrist was an ass. Samara swung her boots, laced up to the knees and hanging off the bed, to the carpet. She usually preferred something comfortable once she returned home, once again in her bedroom, shutting out the world. Her usual pyjama pants and baggy long-sleeved top still lay in a small heap on the floor beside her bed, cast off in the chilly morning when dressing for college. Her boots, black leggings, and Tool t-shirt, with a long-sleeve underneath to cover her arms as always, were evidence of her excitement on returning home. No time to change. No minutes spared for an interrogation from her mother. Barely a moment to dump her bag in the hallway and slip away to her sanctuary, her prize clutched tightly in her hand. Well, she heaved in a ragged breath, calming her racing heart. If not, they at least were past caring what she thought. And Shan would mourn them too. Moonlight streamed through the windows, and my eyes adjusted to the dim light of the cabin. I picked up my boots then tiptoed to the kitchen and felt around the counter for my keys.Damn it, I know I left them here. Frustrated, I flipped on the light over the sink. How many people have touched them? Gabriel asked. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, attempting to calm her mind. Listening to the waves and the wind gusting about the house like a forlorn spirit. Her slowed thoughts seemed to sink a little inside her head, finding a slower pace, descending to a darker level. Your guardian? asks Catherine. All day he ran. When they would have set their new camp, still he ran. He didnt need food or rest. All that mattered was Jeren..