Sitting on the bed in my hotel room, I ran a rag covered in a salt and vinegar mix over my knife, cleaning away the blood from the teens I’d encountered earlier. After I’d left the woods, I went across the street and was pleasantly surprised to find my letter to Eisley missing. Considering only a handful of people on this god-forsaken sphere knew what that cross symbolized, and the state in which it’d been left, it was a safe bet that it was her who had picked up the white envelope.
