#radborn

No... No it couldn’t be. This has to be...some kind of delusion or something. He had watched her die, right after giving birth to their daughter.... Yet, there she is, just a few feet away from him, seemingly unaware of his presence. For a moment, he considers just walking away - maybe the person just looks like her - but everything in his brain in his screaming that somehow, someway, that’s his Catherine and he would be damned if he passed up this miracle chance to see her. 

the  bell  above  the  door  of  uptown  drugs  gave  a  wet,  bronchial  cough  as  holden  shouldered  his  way  inside.  the  air  was  thick  with  the  smell  of  camphor,  cloves  and  bad  decisions.  behind  the  counter  cluttered  with  dubious  tonics  and  unlabelled  jars,  a  man  with  the  greasy  demeanor  of  a  carnival  baker  and  the  eys  of  a  snake-oil  salesman  gave  him  a  slow,  appraising  once-over.  holden  tipped  his  hat,  a  gesture  of  automatic  southern  courtesy  that  felt  as  out  of  place  here  as  a  hymn  in  a  brothel.  the  man  stared  at  him  with  dead  eyes  before  jerking  his  head.  motioning  him  through  to  the  back  office.  the  snake  pit.  he  was  expected,  after  all. just  another  business  transaction,  he  told  himself,  hand  resting  lightly  on  the  worn  grip  of  his  iron.  the  shadows  in  the  corners  seemed  a  little  too  deep,  the  silence  a  little  too  complete.  dealing  with  the  syndicate  always  set  his  teeth  on  edge;  they  had  a  way  of  making  a  simple  handoff  feel  like  a  trap  waiting  to  spring.  he  forced  a  smile  that  he  didn't  feel  and  a  pushed  down  his  misgivings.  syndicate  caps  spent  just  as  wall  as  any  other,  and  the  landlord  in  his  current  digs  had  a  particular  fondness  for  getting  paid  on  time.  misgivings  had  a  peculiar  way  of  vanishing  when  rent  was  due.  "elashiry,"  holden  called  as  he  stepped  into  the  back  office,  careful  not  to  place  his  back  to  the  man  behind  the  counter.  he  was  a  cynic  by  trade  and  a  realist  by  necessity.  one  didn't  survive  the  waste  by  being  anything  less.  the  man  smiled  like  a  corpse;  a  gold  tooth  flashing  in  the  light  before  looking  away. holden cast another glance over the empty shop before closing the door behind him with the finality of a casket.   "hirin' folk like that, i can see why your business is just plain boomin'." 

         ❛ so the institute is real, ❜ alex almost sounds surprised, but she looks annoyed as if it’s an offense to the world they live in. ❛ i guess i shouldn’t be surprised considering the enclave is still technically a thing, ❜ there’s a pause when she looks to the sole survivor from her work bench. she’s careful in her next words.  ❛ so you found your answer, then? did you find shaun? ❜