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Thirty-eight
Thirty-eight The smell reminded Ryann of her parents’ farm, when they had to get rid of diseased animals. She’d cried then, too, even though she knew it needed to be done. The torches were heavy in her hands, and she placed them by her feet. She made sure they were powered down first, though. It was important to do things properly. Then, and only then, did she take in the room. It was important to analyse any situation as soon as the adrenaline began to fade. She recorded, unwilling to fully trust her memory. She pulled up filters, and saw heat swirl in the room. The source was the charred mess, although it was already cooling, and a dark residue spread out beneath it. Like burning plastic, she thought, like something unreal. Brice sat next to the remains, his head in his hands but hi
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