Chapter 25

Captain Vex looked at the jar in her hand with raw horror. Understanding flooded through her like bile. She felt light and disconnected from herself. Her vision contracted and the room swam. Her heart pounded and she felt like she was floating. She didn’t notice as the jar slipped from her fingers, but Danica did. With a quick lunge, her first mate took a knee and caught the jar, but wasn’t fast enough to catch the Captain as she folded herself bonelessly to the ground. “No ... No no no,” Belita muttered.

Friday rushed forward and held the Captain’s lolling head to keep her from falling the rest of the way. “Captain!” she snapped. “Captain, look at me!”

Belita slowly focused on the doctor. Her face was pale as a sheet, and her usually bright eyes were dark and wide as saucers. Her whole body shook.

“Having a breakdown, she!” Friday snapped. “Help me lay her down.”

“What happened?” Danica asked. She ignored the worry and helplessness she was feeling and grabbed the Captain’s feet. She pulled Belita’s legs straight while Friday lowered her head. Friday pointed to a pile of cloth in the corner, and Danica rushed to grab a stack of them.

“Too much stress,” the Doctor said curtly. “Should have noticed the signs, I. Very good at hiding how she feels, she.” Once the Captain’s head was resting on the folded cloth, Friday stood up. “Keep her talking.”

“Captain, are you with us?” Danica asked.

“It was just a dream,” Belita said, trembling. “It innae real.”

“Tell me about the dream,” Danica prompted, not sure what else to do.

“The whole crew,” Belita said quietly. “Ye. All of ye. Everyone who got stuck by those damn things, all turned intae monsters. It wannae real though. It cannae be.”

Even though she’d understood what Friday had been explaining before the Captain, she hadn’t fully considered the consequences. Images of Coleman’s arm flashed through her mind. “No,” she said fiercely. “No, that will never happen. We would all die first.”

Shook her head frantically as tears began to flow from the corners of her eyes. “That innae better.”

Danica looked up at the dead grindylow on the table, remembering how they shambled and moaned for help while trying to kill everyone around them. “We’re just going to have to disagree on that, Captain.”

Belita stuck a syringe in Belita’s arm with a practiced motion, and inspected her eyes, waiting. “Not a prophet, you. Dreams are not real.”

“So they all die instead?!” the Captain snarled hopelessly.

Friday shook her head calmly and firmly. “Your crew can be saved, think I.”

Belita’s focus snapped to the doctor. She grabbed Friday’s white shirt in a death grip and breathed raggedly. “How?”

Friday covered Belita’s fist with her own hand and held her tight, waiting for the injection to take effect. Slowly, Belita’s heart slowed and her breathing deepened. Her eyes contracted back to their normal bright sky blue. Friday reached out and stroked Belita’s hair to calm her further. “Remember, you. Not just a doctor, I,” Friday said with a smile.

Danica sighed. “This is going to get weird again, isn’t it?”

“I must say, your arrival came as quite a surprise,” Prelate Alexandra said to her guests. “It is not often that the Grand Cathedral sends a group of it’s most favored disciples to a small port like this.”

“You are too humble,” the Centurion said. “Small ports do not warrant a fort of this size, or a Prelate to oversee it.”

The Prelate gave them the smallest of smiles and folded her hands into her wide sleeves. “Well, the Mother Church does have plans to improve the area, of course. I am merely here to facilitate them. Sadly, our guest house is still under construction and our state rooms are mostly unfurnished. They are livable so long as you do not mind cots. You are welcome to them as long as you need, as well as any other resources you require while you are here.”

“Thank you, Prelate. We spend most of our time on ships lately. Your cots are likely a step up,” the priestess in white-trimmed robes said with a small curtsey. “I am Sister Victoria of the Chalice, this is Sister Mercy of the Hammer, and Sir Hector, our escort.” The sister in red trimmed robes curtsied and the Centurion gave the Prelate a small, polite bow as they were introduced.

The Prelate inclined her head. “And I am Alexandra. I would love to hear about the mission that brings you here, if you’re at liberty to speak of it. I’ve never seen Inquisitors escorted by a Centurion before. Your duty must be dreadfully important. Please, sit. Be at ease.”

The two priestesses sat in the two chairs opposite the Prelate’s desk. Hector continued to stand, but he did remove his impressive helmet and visibly relaxed. Mercy and Victoria exchanged a quick glance that told Prelate Alexandra much. They hadn’t discussed the privacy of their mission much, and were at odds regarding what to do. A small amused smile threatened to bloom on Alexandra’s face, but she restrained it. These were Witch Hunters. It was likely they’d received the same sort of training as she herself had regarding how to read body language. They were young, but obviously talented. They were traveling with a Centurion, after all. It would not be wise to underestimate them.

Sister Victoria pursed her lips for a moment. “Our mission is not secret, but it may be sensitive. We are following up on a possible demonic possession we uncovered a short time ago, involving a resident of your island. One William Sterling.”

Prelate Alexandra let her face crack into a wide smile. “Oh, I’m afraid you are quite mistaken. We’ve looked into Mister Sterling’s case thoroughly. It’s true, he bears a powerful curse, but he is not possessed.”

“When was the last time you assessed his condition?” Sister Mercy asked bluntly.

“Six months? He comes in annually each winter. As far as I am aware, there has not been any change in his condition since he brought it to our attention,” Alexandra said, keeping her tone casually amused and benevolent.

“He came in voluntarily?” Sister Mercy asked, clearly a bit surprised.

Alexandra’s internal smile widened a bit, but her face bore only sympathy. They were picking up the breadcrumbs she was laying out for them nicely, without any indication they were aware of what the Prealate was doing. “Oh yes, my dear. As I said, he is cursed. He wanted it removed and came here for help. Sadly, his condition was beyond our abilities here. The curse is anchored to his soul, the poor man. We offered to send him to the Malus himself, but Sterling declined. We had an acolyte keeping an eye on him, and he has not missed any assessment. He’s chosen to simply live with his condition. I am hopeful that as our congregation grows here, we may eventually have the power to help him. Until then, we are content to observe.”

“Is that safe?” Sister Mercy asked. “What about the populace? Aren’t they in danger?”

“Or afraid?” Sister Victoria added.

Prelate Alexandra allowed herself to look thoughtful. “Mister Sterling’s condition does not manifest in ways that have caused unrest, at least not directly. We have been largely unable to observe a manifestation as it is happening, but Sterling describes it as ‘bad luck.’ Our Acolyte has confirmed that Sterling frequently finds himself involved in unlikely circumstances that inconvenience him greatly. There have been situations that turned tense or violent, but that is unfortunately common here. There are rumors of course, but the inhabitants of Prince’s Cove tend to adopt a live and let live approach to the people around them. Sterling has made a name for himself as a cartographer, and is generally well liked, or at least ignored by the locals.”

The sisters glanced at each other again. “I believe we were inadvertently caught up in one of those unlikely situations you mentioned, a few days ago on Barcola,” Sister Victoria said. “Tense is ... understated.”

“Oh dear,” Alexandra said with wide eyes. “I hope everyone involved is alright.”

“Nothing more than a few bruised egos and a lot of unanswered questions,” Sister Mercy said evasively.

“He nearly re-ignited the Barcolan rebellion,” Hector said from behind them, startling both sisters.

That made Alexandra sit back in her chair. “Not on purpose, I suspect?”

The Sisters exchanged another glance. It was clear to Alexandra that this was the nexus of their impasse.

Sister Mercy spoke first. “That is exactly the focus of our investigation.”

“He did not seem to be trying to instigate violence. In fact, he seemed to be trying quite firmly to stop it,” Sister Victoria said firmly, with a slight glance towards her partner.

“But, his every word and action escalated the situation further. The crowd went from nervous, to agitated, to violent in a matter of moments. They were throwing bottles and finding weapons. They were firmly on Sterling’s side. It seemed like a spell had been cast over them,” Sister Mercy added.

“He did not cast a spell, nor did any of his allies,” Sister Victoria clarified.

“But if Sterling is cursed, the magics would be ambient, not directed. We might not have seen them take hold of the crowd,” Mercy countered.

“True,” Mercy admitted hesitantly. “A curse was something we did not consider at the time.”

“I think I am going to need a bit more information about the circumstances if I am to help you,” Alexandra prompted gently.

Sister Mercy considered for a moment. “Are you familiar with the Nivali tradition called All Souls Night?”

“Yes,” Alexandra said. “I believe that celebration had a great deal to do with how the trouble with Barcola started, did it not? If my memory serves me, the Order of the Hammer tried to halt that particular blasphemy, and the locals reacted ... poorly.”

“Yes,” Sister Mercy said with a bitter nod. “Now, they’ve returned to their blashemies with more fervor than ever. Every year, the entire populace attempts to call up demonic spirits and celebrate their presence among them. Our mission was to find one of their demons and capture it.”

Alexandra considered for a moment, then pursed her lips and closed her eyes in sympathy. “You mistook Mister Sterling’s curse for a Soul Pact.”

“Yes,” Sister Victoria said with a frustrated sigh. “The mistake was mine. I’ve never seen a curse so complex.”

“Our Inquisitor made the same mistake the first time Sterling came in,” Prelate Alexandra said. “At first glance, it does look very similar to powerful diabolism. Fortunately for himself and the church, Sterling would make an atrocious Warlock.”

Sister Mercy chose her words carefully, but her doubt was clear. “I would never doubt your assessment, Prelate. What we experienced just seems far beyond the capabilities of a simple curse.”

“We were very thorough,” Prelate Alexandra said. “Mister Sterling’s records are in our Archive, and we sent them to the Grand Cathedral for further study. There is no demonic presence in him.”

“Is it possible for the curse itself to be demonic in origin?” Sister Mercy asked.

“Of course,” Prelate Alexandra said with a small shrug. “That was the first thing we checked after our initial assessment. If it is demonic in origin, it is not similar to any the Church has documented in the past. Mister Sterling said he received it while investigating the ruins of an ancient temple dedicated to the Warden.”

The Sisters’ expression turned to shock. Victoria managed to speak first. “You mean to say that you believe this curse is ... holy?”

Alexandra let herself laugh. “No, of course not. I am merely telling you what Sterling believes. I am not a historian, but my suspicion is that the ancient church found a site of heathen worship, destroyed it, and built a holy temple of the ruins. Over time, that temple fell to ruin as well. Sterling’s treasure hunting released the heathen energies the church had been built to protect against.”

“The Historical Society never listens,” Sister Victoria said with a sigh. “The mother church has been very clear about it’s disapproval of any excavations of sanctified places. That should be our jurisdiction.”

“Oh, I very much agree,” Alexandra said honestly. “If nothing else, it would let us spend less time and energy cleansing foolish treasure hunters of their curses.”

“If the temple Sterling was exploring had been built to seal away infernal powers, Sterling’s curse could be daemonic in origin,” Sister Mercy pointed out shrewdly.

“I suppose it’s possible,” Prelate Alexandra conceded. “I would recommend going through Sterling’s archive before considering that line of thought further.”

“That was our next step after speaking with you. We’d also like to speak with anyone who was present during Sterling’s assessments, and this acolyte who was assigned to watch him,” Sister Victoria added.

“That can be arranged,” Alexandra said with a benevolent smile. “Start with the Archive. I will see to it that the people you wish to speak with are made available.”

Sister Victoria stood and curtsied. “Thank you, Prelate.”

Hector put his helmet back on and pulled the door open for the women. Prelate Alexandra followed them to the door and spoke to the acolyte waiting outside. “Show them to the Archives, and ask the Brothers to assist them however they need.”

With another quick round of thanks and niceties, the trio left. Alexandra watched them, and waited until just before they disappeared down the stairs. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again they blazed with gold from twinned pupils. She could make out their auras, and the holy bindings and wards that spun across all of them. Most she recognized even from this distance, but more important to her was what she did not see.

Someone had been lying.

“I’m fine, Doc,” Belita said as she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I just had a spell. Probably the hangover.”

Friday began counting on her fingers. “Were attacked, you. Saw your crew killed and your ship breached, you. Have hardly slept in days, you. Are hungover, you. Have not eaten, you. Are under great pressure as Captain, you. Are worried about surviving, you, and just learned that many of your crew are infected with a parasite that will turn them into monsters.”

Danica rubbed the Captain’s back. “That’s enough to overwhelm anyone.”

Belita sighed. “Aye.’ Then she shook her head angrily. “It innae like I’ve never been stressed out before, or in danger before. Hell, I kinda like that feeling most of the time. It’s just ... none of my usual ways of handling it have worked.”

Doctor Kalfou’s voice carried soft but firm demand. “Why?”

“I...” Belita couldn’t start. The others waited. The silence felt like it was pushing on her chest. She took a shaky breath. “They were callin’ for help. I cannae shake it. Now every time the wind blows through the trees, I hear it echoing in my head.” She sighed “When my da died, he called for help too. I couldn’t save him. I...” she swallowed. “I killed him.” Her eyes were rimmed with red, but she was so tired and drained that no tears came. She felt like someone else was talking. “Those things ... I know we had tae, but every time one died, I kept seeing my da in my head.”

“Cannot blame your-” Doctor Kalfou began, but cut herself off when Danica held up a hand.

“Tell her the rest,” Danica said gently. “It’s important.”

Belita swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’d been running the Horn for three years. My First Mate caught pneumonia over the winter and couldn’t come on for our first trip of the season. My da offered tae come out of retirement and be my First Mate. Skinsails were waiting for us on the far side of the Horn.”

Doctor Kalfou’s hand leapt to her mouth in horror. “Bondye cheri.”

Captain Vex continued numbly. “We outran them at first. We dropped all our cargo, and weaved through the little horns, and took every risk we could think of, and it worked. The first ship chased us right into the second.” She let out a long breath. “They broadsided us with harpoons and started tae reel us in like a fish. Da led the swabs to try to cut us free. They got hit with some kind of net and yanked into the water faster than anyone could blink.”

“My Bosun dropped a lifeboat off the side and snapped enough of the harpoons that we could pull free. It saved the Kestrel, but not my da and the other swabs. I had tae give the order tae leave them behind. The last I ever saw my da, he was getting hauled up the side of a skinsail ship, screaming for help.”

Friday’s mouth opened, but Danica’s raised hand cut her off again. “Keep going,” Danica prompted.

Belita’s face twisted in anguish. “I tried tae kill him!” The words felt like they’d escaped from captivity. “We’d talked about the Skinsails years ago. Every sailor who travels those routes does at some point. We all know what they do. It’s better tae die! So da and I agreed, if either of us was going tae get caught by them, we’d end it quick.” Tears streamed down her face. “I tried! I forced myself tae take the shot. I ... missed. I couldnae even save him by killing him.”

The silence felt heavy, but it didn’t feel like it was pushing on Belita’s heart anymore. She hated talking about that story. It always brought her back to that moment, watching her father scream for help and beg for death as he disappeared behind her.

In her head, she’d been living in that moment since the Grindylow first threw themselves onto the deck of Kestrel and started their helpless screams. This time, talking about it. Helped.

Doctor Kalfou was speechless. She sat down next to Belita and put her hand on her shoulder. The tears ran their course in time and Belita looked up to give the Doctor a small, mirthless smile. “So what do I do, Doc?”

“Think you just did it, I,” Friday smiled sympathetically. “Next, forgive yourself, you.”

“I dinnae think I can,” Belita said with a small shrug.

“Not now, perhaps. In time,” Friday assured her.

“We dinnae have time,” Belita said with a swallow, trying to regain her composure. “Getting off this island isn’t going tae wait for me tae sort out my head.”

“Then focus, we, on the basics,” Friday said. “Keeping safe. Staying fed. Getting rest. Get through this together, we.”

Belita nodded. “I dinnae like asking for help, but I appreciate it.”

“Doc, I wish you’d joined up years ago,” Danica said. Tears had drawn lines down her face as the Captain told her story, but she was smiling proudly. “Getting her to talk is like wrangling a badger.”

Belita managed to laugh a bit. “How did you know that story anyway? I dinnae tell you.”

“Sandman,” Danica admitted guiltily. “When he left, he told me and Coleman. I think he thought it was important for us to know so we could help you if you ever got ... like this.”

“That bastard,” Belita said with a mirthless laugh. She couldn’t even muster the energy to be angry about the breach of confidence. “Suppose he was right. I hate that.”

“Wait, Sandman?” Doctor Kalfou asked, clearly surprised. “Know the Sandman, you?”

Sometimes Belita forgot that Sandman was as famous as she was, in his own way. “Aye, he was the Bosun I mentioned, the one that broke the harpoons. He became my First Mate for a couple years after that, but left about a year ago.”

“Met him once, when I was younger, I” Doctor Kalfou said with a smile. “Was a student of my grandfather, he. Can’t think of anyone outside the family, I, that my grandfather spoke of with respect like that.”

“Your grandfather was the tall fellow you were with on Barcola, right?” Danica asked, blushing a bit at the memory of the man’s brazen flirting.

Friday raised an eyebrow at Danica’s expression and smirked. “Left an impression, he?”

Danica looked guilty. “He was very nice.”

Friday laughed. “Many things, he, but rarely nice.”

“Who is he?” Danica asked. “I mean, no disrespect, but ... who teaches someone to be like Sandman?”

“Saying ‘student’ may have been misleading,” Doctor Kalfou corrected herself. “People who seek out my grandfather are already very skilled. He helps them master their arts. His students come from many different disciplines. Sandman did stand out among them though.”

“Aye, he would,” Belita snarked.

Danica grinned. “The creepy skull mask doesn’t really lend itself to blending in with a crowd.”

“Wears a death mask now, he?” Friday asked, raising her eyebrow again. “Dangerous, that.”

“You know what it is?” Danica asked.

“He said it helps him dreamwalk,” Captain Vex said, curious and concerned.

“Interesting. Never heard of one being used like that, I,” Friday tilted her head in consideration. “Death masks are intended to help someone keep safe in the Ways Between. It convinces the spirits there you’re one of them, so ignore you, they.”

“Ways between what?” Danica asked.

“This world and afterlife,” Captain Vex explained. “In Camberly, we call it the Mistlands, or the Misty Isles. It’s where spirits live, and where souls go on their way tae wherever they’re going tae end up.”

“Oh,” Danica said, wide eyed. She’d never been much for religion, and for a sailor she put surprisingly little stock in superstition or magic. She preferred what she could see and touch. She knew there was more out there than she understood, but she always figured that if it wasn’t making a nuisance of itself, it didn’t matter much. “So he wears the mask so he can wander around with dead people?”

“As a simplified explanation, that is what they are typically used for, yes,” Friday conceded. “From the sound of things, does not use them in the typical fashion, he.”

Belita snorted. “He dinnae do anything in the typical fashion.”

“Wait, go back,” Danica said, pursing her lips in thought for a moment. “You said the Mistlands are where souls go, and where spirits live. What’s the difference?”

Captain Vex started to speak, but realized she didn’t really have an answer so she looked to the Doctor.

Friday smiled and shrugged. “Complicated subject, that. Most of the time, when we call something a spirit, it is a soul that is not where it is supposed to be.”

“Like a ghost?” Danica said.

“Or any other kind of undead,” Friday said with a nod. “That is what the state of undeath is. A spirit which, for whatever reason, is not where it is supposed to be.”

“So spirits are just undead souls?” Danica asked.

“No,” Friday said with a shake of her head. “Undead are all spirits, in some form or another, but not all spirits are undead.”

Danica was fascinated, but felt like she was out of her depth. It felt like when Coleman tried to explain mathematics. “How does that work?”

Friday considered how best to explain. “Every living thing has a soul. When something dies, it’s soul passes to the Ways Between and is supposed to be ushered on to the next place by a guide. The ones that do not move on become spirits that haunt the Ways. Because the Ways are so close to the living world, those spirits can sometimes manifest here. That is a haunting.”

“The guides in the Ways are also spirits, and have souls, but have never been alive like we are. Not creatures of this world, they. When here, usually very strange, they, and cannot remain long.”

Danica felt like she was starting to get it, but the whole discussion was so far outside her understanding that it was hard to fill in the blanks with what she already knew. “Can you give me an example?”

“Well, demons, for one,” Friday explained. “Angels also. The Loa my people revere, and the Anima of the Akula. There are many different kinds of spirit.”

“Wow,” Danica said, wide eyed. “I have so many questions.”

Friday laughed and Belita managed a smile. “Aye, but later,” Belita said. “I’d like tae get out of this morgue and eat something.”

“Oh, right,” Danica said with an embarrassed laugh. “You feeling better?”

Captain Vex sighed in exasperation and eyed the jar of Grindylow toxin on the table. “Aye. If the doc has a plan tae save the crew, that’s good enough for me.”

“Will not know for certain, I, until they start showing symptoms of the infection,” Friday said. “After that, need volunteers, I, to see if my ideas work.”

“Symptoms like...” Danica cut herself off. “They are! A bunch of the crew are sick!”

“Might just be a cold,” Belita said.

Danica shook her head emphatically, doing a quick mental count in her head. “Everyone I’ve talked to that is feeling sick was also stung during the fight.”

“Send me two who you trust well, tonight after dinner,” Friday said as she offered Captain Vex a hand.

“Lace and Coleman?” Danica suggested.

Belita let the doctor pull her to her feet and took a moment to make sure she felt stable and gave Danica a nod. “Make it happen.”

“Right after I get you over to Stewpot,” Danica said with a grin. She offered the Captain her arm.

Captain Vex shook her head. It wouldn’t do to have the crew see her needing to be supported like that. She brushed herself off, smoothed her clothes, settled her hat on her head and walked out of the tent.

It was more like a cave than a basement. It looked like a natural hole that had been widened by amateurs. The stairs leading down from the trap door were uneven and slick with damp. The handrail was made out of one of the rusted pieces of railing that had once run around the perimeter of the upper level of the lighthouse, and held to the stone by pitons driven into cracks in the rock.

A broken coat rack leaned against the wall at the bottom of the steps. Caine hung the lantern in his hand from it and looked around. “Watch your step,” he said over his shoulder.

Behind him, Janie crept down from Will’s office like a child in a ghost story.

“Whatcha- woah. Is that a trap door?” Tonya’s voice asked from the office above.

“Yes,” Janie said.

“Can I come?’ Tonya asked.

“You may want to put some clothes on first,” Janie replied.

“Pfft. Naw,” Tonya said. “I bet it’s nice and cool down there.”

“It is,” Caine called up. “It’s also full of broken glass and rusty nails.”

“I’ll put some shoes on,” Tonya said. Her footsteps scampered away.

“So what is it?” Janie asked.

“Junk storage?” Caine shrugged.

“This whole place is junk storage,” Janie said dryly.

Broken crates and barrels sat in a pile of wood and rust, mouldering against one wall. Broken bottles were strewn about. The only things of note were a mostly empty bookcase, a map hanging on the wall like a portrait, a small table with a single stool, and a row of about a dozen small footlockers.

Caine wandered through the mess toward the back of the irregularly shaped room, scanning with his lantern. Janie went straight to the map.

“Did that wall fall down?” Tonya asked from the stairwell.

“Not fell,” Caine said, pointing to the scorch marks on the walls. “Blasted.”

“Wasn’t me, I swear,” Tonya said, gingerly stepping into the room wearing nothing but a pair of thigh high boots.

Tonya’s joke actually got a small smirk out of Caine. “Looks like it happened quite a while ago.”

“Is it unstable?” Janie asked.

“If it was, the whole lighthouse would have come down by now,” Caine said.

“Well it is somewhat in the process,” Janie pointed out.

Tonya lightly stepped through the mess and looked closer at the collapsed wall. “Wonder if this is why.”

Janie did a double take at Tonya’s choice of footwear. “Those are the shoes you decided to explore a cave in?”

“They’re sturdy!” Tonya said, turning out her heeled boots to look at them better in the dim light. They were shiny black with purple trim, covered in straps and buckles, and the thick heel looked to be at least four inches tall. “Everything else I have are high heels and fancy slippers.”

“Remember that list I asked you to make for Kaduska?” Caine asked.

“Yeah, I did it,” Tonya assured him.

“Are boots on it?” Caine asked.

“No,” Tonya said, extending her leg for emphasis. “These boots are great. I don’t need another pair.”

Janie and Caine exchanged a pained look.

“What an odd map,” Janie said, deciding to change the subject before she had to flee another conversation with Tonya. “There’s no identifying features of any kind. Nothing is labeled. There’s no coordinates. There’s not even a compass rose.”

“Maybe it’s just too faded?’’ Caine suggested.

“No, it’s been sealed in glass. The lines are clear,” she said. “It’s just a handful of islands and a piece of a coastline somewhere.”

“Woah, these are full,” Tonya said, prodding a footlocker with her toe. She tried to open it. “Locked too.”

“Janie, he gave you his keys, right?” Caine asked.

“Yes, but I don’t think we need to be rifling through his lockboxes,” Janie said tersely.

“Oh come on!” Tonya said. “Can’t we just look?”

Janie looked uncertain. “No, that does not seem right.”

Tonya scoffed in disappointment. “You’re no fun.”

“I can feel air here,” Caine said, holding out his hand towards the pile of rubble.