Book 12: Who Killed It?

Aviva

The packhouse is always full to the brim. Four impossibly long tables and benches rest in the center of the wide, wood-lined space in rows where not a single seat is unaccounted for. Children dart from group to group, finding friends to play with while their parents dine. 

I’m at my usual spot at the head of the left-most table, surrounded by the other young, mated, new mothers while our mates move from group to group of men, chatting over pints of home-brewed ale. 

I bounce Lexa in my lap as I fork another piece of meat into my mouth, glancing down the table where Misty and Cole are seated together, unaccustomed to the noisy, damn near riotess shared evening meal. 

Misty seems especially affected, which strikes me as odd, given that she spent two weeks here last year before she went back to school… but that was before everything happened. 

Her eyes are empty, which worries me. 

I thought I was the o