Michael Connelly The Crossing 소설 & 이야기

“Chloe and—fuck, I don’t know, Tits McGee—won’t shut up about your last little… acquisition.” I didn’t bother looking at them. Just stared at him and said, “Then maybe I should buy a muzzle.” The girls laughed—high, stupid, desperate. Elliot laughed louder, like it was his line, like he was in on it. He always did that. Clung to the edge of every conversation like it was a fucking life raft. “Classic Cross,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder like we were frat boys again. “Always the killer.” I moved past him.

Marcus did the same, green eyes hard whenever their paths almost crossed. They piled into cars, the mood light and happy. Coach made sure Ethan and Marcus rode with him. The drive was tense in the front and back seats, but the rest of the team in other cars were already hyped, texting about what they were ordering. Benny’s was warm and familiar when they walked in—the smell of grilled onions, melted cheese, and sweet syrup hitting them the second the door opened. The team took over the big corner booths, sliding in with loud, excited chatter. Menus got passed around fast.

Yet, I still crossed it. I know I had to find Lily. I had no choice but to find the girl. I shifted once I crossed, knowing that my black pelt will make it more obvious I was not part of their pack, but I will be easier hidden in the shadows. I ran through the trees, picking up the faintest scent of Lilacs. It led me further and further away from safety but closer to Lily. That was… up until my senses got overwhelmed by the smell of coffee. O crap…

“Croissants. From the place that pretends they’re from Paris.” “Bless you,” I muttered, taking one. Lila perched on the arm of the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “So… I woke up to your face all over my feed again. It’s giving ‘star-crossed scandal sequel.’” I groaned. “Please don’t start.” She grinned. “Relax. I’m not judging. I’m just saying — the man looked like a walking heartbreak out there. You could feel the tension through the photos.”

When he heard that Sophia was really kneeling at the club entrance and had become a laughingstock for everyone, he panicked and bought the first standing-ticket train out that very night. He fled back to his hometown. But the little villa he once boasted about had long since been sold off to cover debts. Rosa had frozen to death under some unknown bridge during a bitter winter years before, her body discovered only after it began to rot. Everyone in his hometown knew he was a convicted scammer and murderer. No one wanted anything to do with him. The last I heard of him, he was caught stealing by some neighbors, who broke one of his legs on the spot and left him by the roadside.

As she approached, he helped her into the saddle, then climbed onto his own. The moment their mounts galloped beyond the sanctuary gates, the fog seemed to recoil. But the woods beyond remained treacherous. As they rode, Catherine whispered enchantments to cloak their presence, while Father Emmanuel—now riding with them—recited protective scriptures beneath his breath. They were not simply traveling through land anymore. They were crossing into the spiritual battlefield. They reached the river crossing by dawn. The old bridge had collapsed under mysterious circumstances, as if clawed by something massive. Catherine knelt by the splintered wood. “This wasn’t rot. Look at the burn marks.”

Avoid thinking about Damon Cross. “Morning,” Hailey’s voice chimed from the video call notification before Elara could even take the first sip of coffee. “You’re early,” Elara muttered, accepting the call. Hailey’s grin filled the screen. “Early? Please. I’ve been dying to ask, how was the symposium?” Elara’s fingers tightened around her mug. “Productive enough.” “Uh-huh. And by productive, you mean you ran into Damon Cross.” Elara blinked. “How---”

“Good to know though that these doors won’t stand up to vampires. I guess August didn’t design them with vamps in mind.” “Where does up go?” Connery paused with hand on the railing, looking up at the curl of the stairs above them. “To the surface, correct?” “Yeah,” Rohan was confused. “But they went down.” “This is where we part ways, my friends,” Connery said to Rhett and Cameron. “I have to return to Meguitte.” “You can’t just…” Rohan protested as Connery began to climb the stairs, but Cameron caught him by the wrist and shook his head.

“You haven't—" “I have to go, Aunt Maggie. I'll get back to you with whatever he says.” He ended the call before she could say any other thing. Then he turned off the ignition and got out of the car, making sure he locked the doors since this was a strange place. “Mr Cross?" He said with a smile. “Peter." Nolan shook his extended hand and walked beside him. “Great to finally hear from you." "Well, I'm trying my best with what I have.” He turned to Nolan as they walked towards the large building, which looked disorganized, with thick smoke coming out from the side.

Different from everyone else who had ever crossed toward the founding ground. Not the pull of the wrong-assessed — Cleo had not been wrong-assessed. She had been informally designated as the bridge holder for the central crossing point between Harren and Mourne territories, which was a role that the current system had no name for and which she had been performing with the specific competence of someone who did not need a name to do the work.