Carly had never felt much empathy for her fellow man, and that was perhaps what had set her apart the most in her age. In school, she’d used it to her advantage, plucking innocent minds and controlling them like marionettes, willing them to carry out her bidding and lead her down the most successful paths. And in the rise of adulthood, she neglected sympathy; serial killers were a nuisance, considering it meant that she could be in the line of danger, but they didn’t bother her much. Ten car pile-ups and drunken collisions were simply life strokes, nothing more. Carly wouldn’t turn to facing the evil in the world for the better good.

However, she would act in her best interest. And with this fire in her gut, and this insatiable hunger rearing in the back of her throat, following Tzich into this madness had to be it. Or, at least, it could be. Denial was still fresh and stinking in her brain.

“Okay,” she turned around, visually resolved. Her arms across her chest looked less like protection and more like authority now. Her eyes were narrowed and her jaw was set. “What do we do?”