An abandoned warehouse, windows with duct-taped cracks, and a dim light above the front door that flickered on and off. If I’d thought Annabel’s old corner at the cemetery was the loneliest place I’d ever been, I was wrong. The Warehouse was far more desolate, a place whose gray brick walls told people to stay away. Nate and I stood across the street, tucked into the corner, our eyes glued to the door with the flickering light. Even in its on-and-off dimness, I could make out a figure standing guard. We went around the block and into the alley that ran behind the Warehouse. Darkness stretched the length of it, the only light from the pale moon. We picked our way down, skirting around broken crates and crushed boxes and piles of rotting wood. Every sound made us freeze, every movement deliberate and careful. Nate guided me around a tall stack of crates. As I passed them, my coat snagged on a loose splinter of wood. Without thinking, I tugged it free.
