The rain has finally stopped and there’s a cool breeze blowing in through the open windows when Atticus walks down the stairs, headphones around his neck. There’s a thick bandage around his throat, white gauze crisscrossing his shoulder. His steps are a little slower, skin a little chalkier, as whatever poison Dolores put into those beans works its way out of his system. “You ready to leave?” Zelda asks.
