WYN says, squeezing my hand. We are walking through the lobby of the Hotel Nacional again. I’m a little more alert than I was last night when we were here, though equally distraught. I admit, I had a good cry in the Tropicana dressing room after Kora disappeared. I’m not sure exactly what happened to her, but there’s a pretty good chance she wasn’t lying. Which means there is a pretty good chance she’s hurt, maybe even dead, and it’s my fault. I’m also pretty sure that if we are up against stone-cold killers, we are never getting back home. As we go up in the elevator, I feel Wyn’s eyes on me, deliberating, trying to decide what to do with me next. I don’t blame him. I’m a bundle of raw feelings and my brain’s on overdrive. Part of me feels like knocking down a few walls again to relieve my frustration. The other part of me wants to pull a Rip Van Winkle and sleep for the next hundred years. “It’s not your fault, you know,”
