Page 60 of Fallen Rider

The smell that infuses my nose is not pleasant, and not one I can distinguish. I don’t give it much consideration, considering I could be about to die at any moment.

“Where’s the rest?” another voice demands.

“Never trust a whore to do anything,” Racket mutters. “At least we got one.”

“Yeah,” a familiar voice says, “we got the one who can’t scream. Goodie.”

Dylan.

That’s Dylan.

My heart stops.