Any possible feeling of ill will I’d held towards Annabelle and her slightly strange behavior was gone for good. She was genuinely nice, friendly, and clearly wanted to get to know me while helping me out. In fact, I was laughing at another one of her rather dry jokes as we made it into the pub. I stopped laughing almost immediately. Everybody was standing around justifiably morose, talking in hushed voices. Fuck. I was a bitch. Seriously, again I’d forgotten about the murders. Or rather than forgotten about them, I’d managed to push them from my mind for a few precious, if indiscreet seconds. Making our way up to the bar, I let Annabelle order the drinks as I turned and surveyed the people around me. Some faces I recognized, some I didn’t, yet all looked suitably respectful and silent. “Hey,” someone said softly from my side. I turned to see Thorne. “You came,” he pointed out quietly. I nodded my head. “You look...” he trailed off. “Nice?” “Yeah,” he managed softly.
