Station Eleven 소설 & 이야기

The clock on the nightstand reads 11:47. Midnight is thirteen minutes away. The numbers glow red in the dark room, pulsing like a heartbeat, like a countdown, like a warning. Nathaniel is on the phone with Marcus, his voice low, urgent, the words spilling out in rushed bursts. Julian is pulling security footage from the building across the street, frame by frame, searching for a face, a shadow, a shape in the dark.

And my name — Daphne Vega, Subject Eleven — is no longer a secret. It's a story. And it's not over yet. End of Chapter 114

But I still stood, frozen as everybody around me moved oblivious of the fact that my heart was breaking bit by bit as I watched the life I had built - the life I had invested so much in for five years - shred apart right before my eyes. Or maybe they didn’t care enough to notice. I took in a shaky breath, my head still reeling with something I couldn’t quite place a finger on - shock? Confusion? Pain? Anger? Perhaps it was a mixture of all of them. Another shaky breath, then another. Because I hoped they would calm my raging nerves but they didn't Instead they just felt like I was dragging my lungs through fire. With each breath I took, my mind slowly came to realization of what was unfoldin

Dylan Thomson's first love, Jocelyn Wilkes, had returned from Northia. That day, he poured me a cup of water with sweet clover added to it and handed it to me. "The silver venom has penetrated her bones. She only has 21 days left and wants to spend her last days of life with me." He spoke very calmly, as if he were talking about the weather that day. There was no trace of emotion in his voice at all. I frowned. "At a time like this, she should be looking for the pack's elders, shouldn't she? Why is she looking for you?"

The underground bunker, hidden from satellites and maps alike. “This is it,” he said as he shut off the engine. “From here, we shift.” They moved with practiced ease. Thick winter coats were exchanged for lighter base layers better suited for shifting. Bags were re-packed, fastened tight so they could be carried by their wolves. Celeste stood at the edge of the vehicle, her breath visible in the icy air. The snow was coming down harder now, thick and fast, sticking to lashes and hair within seconds. The cold crept through her clothes, but the anticipation warmed her blood.

I drove the wooden key into the center of the crimson Hearth fire at my feet. The world didn't explode. It Stutterred. The silver moon in the sky stopped spinning. The Hive wolves froze in mid-step. Even Jackson’s smug, gilded smile was caught in a jagged, flickering frame of reality. "The Eleventh Cycle is a countdown, Jackson," I said, my voice sounding like a thousand clocks. "And I just took the batteries out." But as the world began to grey out into the Liminal North, a new figure emerged from the violet moon.

The man's threats echoed behind me, but I didn't look back. The car door closed, the engine roared. Through the car window, I took one last look at the estate. Lit up, but no longer a home. Ten minutes after the car drove off, the satellite phone rang. I answered. "Miss Moretti," a deep male voice said, "pleasure doing business with you." "Agent," I leaned back in my seat and lit a slender cigarette. "Did you get all the evidence?" "Perfect," he chuckled. "Enough to keep them in jail for twenty years."

I walk out without waiting to see his reaction or hear his response. I head straight for the elevators, wanting to leave already. I guess I'll see Colton at another time, because today was enough for me. I let out a sigh of relief when the doors open, I wait for some people to come out, before entering. I press the ground level button, and I watch the doors close. " Ah!" I gasp, staggering in surprise, when suddenly, an arm shoots out, stopping the elevator doors from closing. It's Reece Cullen, and he looks less than thrilled. He further shocks me, by quickly stopping the elevator from moving, once the doors close.

Black as the darkest night hair against a crisp linen pillow, brown skin against a blindingly white sheet, and tiger’s eyes burning with deliberate cruelty and triumph into hers. In horrified rejection of the imagery that had sprung into her mind, Lara Anderson shuddered violently, dimly aware that she was still in the grip of severe shock. Abruptly, she was dredged from her turmoil by the insistent shrill of the telephone in the hall. Reluctantly she answered the summons, carefully shutting the lounge door behind her so that her father was not disturbed.