I think I just glared at her—unable to find the right words, stunned entirely speechless.
“You don’t want to do that,” I said, and inched a little closer, conscientiously, deliberately. “We don’t know what’s in there. No, no, what I think you need to do just now is to—”
“That’s far enough,” she snapped.
“Or—what? Your g*n’s in the house.”
“Or I jump—right now. Or ... or I call them down on you.” She nodded at the sky—into the churning gloom—where a single pterodactyl wheeled and the strange lights shimmered. “Because—because we’re not the same, see. I’m not like you. Like, not even. I run with wolves. I always have. And I was born for this.”
“No,” I said—and inched still closer. “No one was.”
“Just go. Now—”
And then I leapt.
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It would be pointless to say that I doubted my
