Its late, or more precisely early morning, when we return, and Marinahs sleeping. We scoured the city for signs of Smythe without success. The current storm raging inside me isnt good. I want my hands around the mans throat, and until it happens, I wont rest easy. I slide in beside my mate and pull her close. She rolls in against me out of habit. She mumbles something in her sleep, and shes out again. Im unsure if she woke at all.
My brain is too restless to shut down right now.
They come at night. Its said with the prisoners gruff voice.
I turn and look at him. Our attempts at retrieving information from his messed-up head has been a bust so far. His answers are crazy blabbering gibberish. I have no idea how he stayed alive this long. Hes a danger to himself and others. Killing him will be merciful. He cant possibly survive here alone much longer, and I dont see a way to take him back to the outposts. Hes too unstable.