Pinned under Tulip, Mags watched the hulking monster charge straight for them. With the desperation of a trapped animal, she squirmed under the bigger warrior’s unmoving bulk, trying to find the leverage she needed to wriggle out.
Emma stood on the platform, stark white leotard studded with sequins that reflected beams of light to all angles, starry pinpricks that lit the dark tent above and the crowd below.
What is it, the first forty-eight hours after a crime are the most critical to resolving it? I don’t know if that’s what they say or not, but I’m approaching fifty hours since the events at Jurassic Cabin.