Chapter 72

• The single, bare bulb hanging from the ceiling of the shipping container cast long, dancing shadows on the corrugated steel walls. The air was thick with the smell of rust, stale sweat, and the cold, metallic tang of blood.
• Reese leaned forward, her forearms flat on the rough, metal table. A fresh bandage was wrapped around her bicep, a stark white slash against her grimy skin. Her face was a pale, exhausted mask, but her eyes… her eyes burned with a cold, hard fire.
• “Last time,” she said, her voice a low, dangerous growl that seemed to suck the warmth from the room. “Who are you?”