*Lena*
I watched as the ambassador and Xander spoke with a group of warriors who were congregated near the bunkhouse on the estate. I hadn’t wanted to come back here. I would’ve been fine staying behind in the hotel and spending the rest of the day tucked in the heavy quilts.
But I wanted to keep tabs on George.
I was leaning against the truck, tossing an apple up and down, over and over. Bethany wasn’t around, not that I could tell. The bunkhouse was dark and empty, the front door wide open and swinging in the stiff breeze that was also rustling my hair and sending a chill over my skin.
It was the last week of November. It should have been the last full week of our field study. Next week we would have been sitting in the library on campus, sorting through our research and readying ourselves to present our senior thesis.