I hang up and stare at my phone. The warmth of Mermaid’s Purse is now completely gone, replaced by the familiar chill of duty and guilt and the exhausting dance of being Georgia Hunter’s daughter.
I grab my jacket and head back out. The hallway feels colder than it did five minutes ago. The stairs seem steeper. Everything that felt light and possible now feels heavy and inevitable.
You just can’t beat your roots. You can kick and scream all you want, but at the end of the day, they’re still there, keeping you stuck in the ground right in the place where you were born. Might as well save your breath and accept it.
When I push through the building’s front door, I stop short.
Bastian’s car is still there, idling at the curb. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat, staring at his phone like he’
