[ It's like a shotgun blast through the dead of night to hear his voice. That voice can only belong to one person. That face can only belong to one person. He's . . . yes, that's him, no mistaking it. Unless it's a trick. Maybe it's just someone else? But he's talking about that place, those people, those stupid collars. She has half a mind to yell at him, to scream at him for making her worry so long, and maybe even run to where he is and beat down the door like he's suggested.
But she can't. She can't bring herself to say anything or do anything just short of letting her mouth hang open. Her voice is just a step above a whisper, small and just bordering on pitifully weak. ]
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But she can't. She can't bring herself to say anything or do anything just short of letting her mouth hang open. Her voice is just a step above a whisper, small and just bordering on pitifully weak. ]
Where are you?