We’re done packing in only a few minutes and head for the bedroom door – which I suddenly realize is shattered off its hinges. “Do we need anything else?” Sinclair asks, passing through and not even looking at the splintered remains of our entry. “Probably,” I shrug, following close behind him.

The driver pulls us into the next free space and Sinclair and I quickly unbuckle our seatbelts and prepare to get out of the car. The other car pulls up next to us and I see Sinclair’s men likewise on the move. “Is it all underground?” I ask, looking around. “Most of it,” Sinclair replies, “for

“What’s wrong?” I ask, suddenly knowing that something is truly, deeply wrong – as if I didn’t know it already, from her absence the past five days, her unwillingness to return Roger’s calls. “What’s wrong with me,” Cora gasps, bringing her hand to her face as she studies me. “Ella – you’re covere

And then, slowly, we come back to each other. And honestly, like rain, the laughter brought a little peace. I can see it in her face now, that she believes me, that she knows that whatever happens she still has her sister on her side. And even at the worst, we’ll still find something to laugh at.

“Cora,” Roger breathes, shaking his head, his face full of grief. “Cora, I’m so sorry –“ “It’s okay,” she murmurs, her hands still shaking. He crosses to her in a few steps and takes her face in his hands, staring down into her eyes. “You’re – you’re all right? God, Cora, if I hurt you – I’d