Redsand Canyon One more drink, one less I’ll lose

Watching. All Saints to Dononvan. Instinct screams Finley is prey—someone is watching—“got what was coming”—someone is watching—“blatant fucking mutiny”—“deserved to die a slower death”—off with a pop, here’s to the vultures.

You’re dismissed.

Away he dances, ghosts in tow. Nothing happened here. Skulls promise no encore. Someone is watching. The crowd leaves one by one—trickled in, soul after soul, slower drip out. Blood follows them all, prints stained red; always have they been.

Hackles prickling; they will not be quelled. But she’s been dismissed.

Renard watches. Night is murky.

Finley leaves.