As we’re getting ready to wrap up, a door opens and slams shut somewhere in the house. “Is someone here?” Images of escaped Hunters fill my mind, but Elder Keating steps into the kitchen before Archer can explain. I relax. A little. The Elder looks more disheveled than I’ve ever seen her, a few flyaway hairs sticking to her face and neck. She opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water, downing half before she turns to face us. There’s a vulnerability to the moment that makes her seem more real. Like she actually has a past and a life like everyone else and didn’t burst into existence as an
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