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2. Cillian

I wake up on a cold wood-planked floor. Except this isn’t Cragstone. This floor stinks of piss, sawdust, and beer. I try to groan except my throat is agony. I reach my hand up, brushing crusts of dried blood. My white shirt is grimy and stained. Squinting into the bright sun forcing itself through a small square window it appears I am in a dank cupboard or pantry.

What the hell happened to me last night?

I can’t even guess how long I’ve been asleep. Since finding my parents dead in their room it’s been chaos. Torturous fragments of the evening run through my mind as I stay down on the ground. Like the worst case of flu I barely have the energy to blink let alone hoist myself from the floor and continue the hunt.

The fragments of memory always circle around to Gen’s scream. The howl of agony erupting from her broke me, replaying itself endlessly. The White Forest Guards had found a syringe and nothing else.

Not even a fucking footprint. Fuelled by rage I had tried to follow a scen
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