Chapter 11

The ceremony was ruined beyond repair. Cyril and Cedric had no thought to spare for the aftermath. As if their souls had been torn from their bodies, they rushed straight into the Gray Zone. The old wooden door wasn't locked. When they pushed it open, the space inside was empty, steeped in a moldy stench that refused to dissipate. There was no light in the tent. By the thin wash of moonlight from outside, Cyril saw an absurdly crude bed. A straw mat lay on it, so thin it was almost translucent. This was where I had lived. Drafts cut through it in winter. Rain seeped in during summer. Cedric dropped to his knees beside the bed, his hands digging frantically beneath the straw mat. He refused to believe I had left nothing behind. "There's something here." His fingers brushed against something hard. He pulled it out. It was a paper bag. He had stepped on it earlier, crushing it. The bag had split open, and a pair of gray kneepads tumbled onto the floor. Cedric's hands trembled a