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"The sirens were wailing again, and Scully couldn't remember a night
when they hadn't. Turning over in bed, she groaned and kicked at
the sheets that lay twisted around her ankles.
"The window was open, and the night air crept in heavy with the
scent of fire. The same smell was in her hair and her clothes. It had
settled into the upholstery of her car, the grout of her shower. The
black taste of carbon lingered in the back of her throat like cheap
wine, and nothing she did would erase its bitter ghost." |
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