Aurora stands at that, clutching Pickles’s leash in one hand. “Why are you carrying my backpack?” She steps beside me, and we begin descending as I think of what to say. “You have the dog, and it’s dark. I don’t need your heavy bag slowing you down,” I somewhat lie because although it’s partly true, I also want to do something for her. I want to take care of Aurora Vallacourt, and once I start, there’s no stopping.
