CHAPTER EIGHT
Ilse noted it was getting late as Sawyer maneuvered his unmarked, dark sedan through the city streets towards the apartment building. The structure of glass and steel and yellow paint jutted from the sidewalk like a sore thumb in the heart of Seattle. As they neared it, and Sawyer pulled into an emergency vehicle parking spot on the side of the curb, Ilse could feel the oppressive weight of night descending around them. She glanced at the digital clock on Sawyer's dash. Nearly 6:30. In Seattle, nights often came quick. It tempted the horizon with strands of gray and ash before rushing in all of a sudden and carpeting the sky with black. The light pollution from the city held at bay any starlight. The curling wisps of clouds above distracted the horizon from holding any shape
