Well—not gone, exactly. What was left of it still stood, a charred skeleton of its former self. Blackened walls curled in on themselves like dead petals. The windows were just hollow, gaping sockets.
Smoke still rose lazily from the ruins, and every breeze carried the heavy stench of scorched wood, ash, and something like the smell of burning corpses. Bile rose in my throat, and I turned away and coughed drily.
Beside me, Claude stopped walking and gaped at the scene.
I didn't have to look at him to know what kind of expression was on his face. Anger, frustration, and confusion. I could feel it radiating off of him like pressure before a storm.
"What... what is this?" the trafficker stammered behind us. His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "No, no—no, this can't be it..."
He stumbled forward like a drunk man, staring at the ruins in disbelief. "It wasn't like this—I swear, I swear—"
Claude grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against a tree.
"You lying piece of—"
