It's late, or more precisely early morning, when we return, and Marinah's sleeping. We scoured the city for signs of Smythe without success. The current storm raging inside me isn't good. I want my hands around the man's throat, and until it happens, I won't rest easy. I slide in beside my mate and pull her close. She rolls in against me out of habit. She mumbles something in her sleep, and she's out again. I'm unsure if she woke at all.

My brain is too restless to shut down ...