HIGAN SINCLAIR

The cave reeked heavily of damp rot and dying moss. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend I was anywhere else but the wind wheezing through the narrow ribs of the newly found hole we managed to crawl in made that impossible.

Every passing draft carried Becca’s suffocating scent in its careful stillness as though she’d somehow found a way to bleach the air around her.

I detested that smell and how it clung to my nose, my clothes, my hair, my teeth. It was a bleak ...