The rain had subsided, but the streets still glistened wet as if freshly polished. Cars pulled streaks of water behind them, and small mirrors collected in the gutters, reflecting the weak evening light. Lina walked faster than she wanted to. Each step sounded louder than it should. She knew where her feet were carrying her, even before she admitted to herself that she would be there again.
She turned into the alley that smelled of wet concrete and old cigarettes. In front of her loomed the gray building where Alaric lived. A two-story block, shabby, scarred with graffiti, with doorbells that consisted of nothing but wires. No nameplate. No welcome. Just a door whose hinges squeaked when opened.
Lina stopped just short of it, her heart in her throat. She could turn around. Just go back to her room, open her math notebook, eat Sabine's soup, listen to Tom playing ball. But the mere thought of it felt wrong, like a lie she could no longer live. So she pressed down on the handle.
