"Now then," Darby begins as Dorian pulls his Range Rover onto the empty street, tight-lipped and brooding, to follow Silas and Ian in the other vehicle, "which of you would like to explain himself first?"
A sticky silence expands inside the SUV's interior and adds to the uncomfortably close quarters, laden with the scent of mud, blood and rife with unresolved emotions.
"Ungh. It's exactly like home. Like dealing with a migraine of three-year olds," she groans, referring to her collective of terrorist children.
Beside me, a slow smile creeps over Sean's face and he huffs a laugh, flicking a sidelong glance my direction at the mention of children. But as soon as his golden eyes fall on me, he looks away. Only not before his brows draw together and his expression waxes morose.
