#Chapter 319 – The Archive

Cora

That evening, our car rumbles down the road towards the archive, Roger steady at the wheel. Another car with two guards follows behind us, keeping a steady eye out for anything strange. I sigh, already exhausted, even though I got more sleep than Ella or Roger or Sinclair last night. Still it wasn’t exactly a peaceful sleep – and then today, with the sketch artist…

I stare down at a copy of the sketch in my lap, at the face of the man I didn’t realize had been haunting my dreams. To be able to see him put on paper like this – it’s…it’s like staring at the ghost you didn’t know was haunting you. A little shiver pa*ses through me and I neatly fold the page, placing it in the cup holder next to me, not wanting it in my hands anymore.

“You all right?” Roger asks, glancing over at me.

“Yeah,” I say, sighing again, my eyes on the road. “How long until we get there?”

“About two more hours,” he replies evenly, nodding towards the GPS system running on his phone. “We’re lucky that they’re staying open late for us.”

“We’re not lucky,” I murmur, leaning down to tug at the bottom of the jeans that Ella loaned to me which are, predictably, too short. “Sinclair is rich. Anyone will stay open that late in exchange for an insane donation.”

Roger smirks, glancing at me, but doesn’t reply. Because he knows I’m right.

I feel my phone buzz then, tucked under my thigh, and I pull it out, unlocking it and looking at the

new message on my screen.

Hank: It’s okay, I totally understand. I’m glad the baby is okay. Don’t worry about the clinic – I can hold it down for as long as you need. Have fun? Is that the right sentiment for a trip to an obscure shifter archive?

I smile, laughing a little inwardly at his joke. No, fun was not precisely the word I’d choose either, not for this trip. My smile falls, though, when another message pops onto the screen.

Hank: I miss you.

leg. I look back to the windshield and

asks, smug. I know, instantly,

I murmur, turning

he quips, needling

little glare his

my eyes and letting my head rest back against my seat, my face

of

only last night? – when I’d pulled him half dressed into

Well. Before stuff happened.

Great stuff,

text him back and tell him that I miss him

listen to the steady hum of the car, to the very, very faint

as I drift off to sleep, I wonder if that makes me just….incredibly cruel. I sigh, kind of hating myself right now, but not knowing

hand on my shoulder. I gasp, spinning, to see Roger looking at

an eye,” he says, giving me a warm little smirk. “That’s how you woke me

looking around in the dark. “Are we here?” The car is parked but still running, the windshield wipers slowly moving against a light rain. I look

ready to

take a mental inventory of myself. Body? Stiff, but all right. Mind?

uninvestigated,

little bit, perhaps

seatbelt. “I heard from them,” he says, “but nothing of note. All is well at home. If we’re lucky, we can do our

both climb out of the car and I frown at him over the roof.

a swift wink, stretching himself after long hours at the wheel. “Don’t worry about me, baby,” he says. “I’ve got stamina.” And then he heads for the entrance to the ornate building in front of us, jogging up the

follow, the last thought echoing in my mind is…I bet

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