Hospital.
Outside the ward.
"You told her about what happened on the snow mountain back then?" Lucas Quinn asked.
"Yes, young sir," Mr. Grey said, and suddenly stiffened at the look on Lucas Quinn's face.
He cursed under his breath, folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall, chin tipped up slightly, staring at the strip lights in the corridor.
The beast in his memory lunged out at him.
In that cave on the snow mountain, those people with their claws bared, waving knives to slice meat—he was pinned to the ground, forced to watch as that knife fell on one companion after another. He listened to their screams, and to the despair they couldn't hide in their eyes as they looked at him. Wordlessly, they mouthed: "Kill me. Please. Kill me!"
But he couldn't even grant them that wish.
They cooked that meat, and the thick stench of blood that filled the cave tangled with their laughter, like a cage woven out of nightmares, suffocating.
