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Summary
“The ruins of the Raccoon City Police Department,” Zeno finally answered, and he sounded solemn, like it was a loss. Like he remembered something.
He kissed her jaw tenderly, like he was handling something fragile, then spooned his head against her neck. The dark scarring of his face was rough and rigid against her cheek, like sandpaper, and for some reason – after everything she’d been through tonight – it was welcome. He was warm. And heavy. She was full. She was safe. No clicking of typewriters here. Nothing lurking in the dark. Finally. He’d promised that.