I left the hotel and walked the short distance toward the small building Christopher had chosen for Lucy's confinement—a former call shop sitting on the near edge of the cleared block, its windows opaque with grime and its faded signage barely legible. Unremarkable enough that nobody wandering the perimeter would give it a second look.
I wasn't particularly worried about what I'd find inside. Christopher was angry about what they did. Mei mattered to him. Clara was also a friend, then latter having nearly died.
But Christopher wasn't reckless with it. His anger had edges and he knew where they were.
