unsteady

Rhyme wasn’t even sure that Poltergeist knew who or what he was. She peered up at him, as though in disbelief, before curling against him and tucking herself beneath his chin where she belonged. The old man closed his eyes tightly and held her there quietly a moment before she spoke up, questioning the place where they stood. Eulogy’s grave? ”No.” Not yet. Rhyme was holding out hope that they would find his sister.

The Theory appeared, a question that she was truly seeing what her eyes were telling her before she welcomed Polt home. Nearly two years had passed, and they had assumed her dead. Her return was nothing short of a miracle. ”We thought you were dead.” How could they not after the eruption? Rhyme squeezed her lightly, still astounded that she had somehow found her way back.