CIAN
I told the sentinels to take everything. Every jar. Every bottle. Every dried herb hanging from the ceiling. All of it. The shelves needed to be emptied. The cabinets stripped bare.
"And the floor," I said. My voice sounded strange. Hollow. "Where the vial broke. Scrape up the wood. All of it."
The sentinels moved quickly. They pulled bags from the vehicles. Started filling them with Ophelia's inventory. Glass clinked against glass. The sound grated on my nerves.
Ronan stood beside me in the doorway. He watched the organized chaos inside. His jaw was tight.
"What do you want to do with all this?" he finally asked.
I pulled the napkin away from my face. The white cloth was soaked red now. More blood than fabric. I crumpled it in my fist.
"The witch didn't make just one bottle," I said. "There's no way. She had to have backups. Notes. Something."
Ronan turned to look at me. His expression was careful. "And?"
