Lightning flashed. Taryn looked out the window and saw only building windows and the parabola of lamps along the rail line and overpass. The lightning came again, a discharge not in the sky over the city but inside her head. A blue-white flash. And with it came the voice. The eerie, merry voice. ‘Show me the box!’ it cried, and coruscated, ‘Show me the thing that didn’t burn!’
