He was not surprised when he found the apartment empty, untouched by her hands. She was not foolish enough to come and pick up what few possessions she had before fleeing. His men were laying aside the now broken door as he observed the tiny three-room apartment, smelling the old tobacco. "Search it," he ordered quietly, and the soldiers scattered.
They tore into mattresses, sent plates and glasses to the floor until every cabinet was empty for confirmation. He watched them all with a clinical observation that was expected, his thoughts turning elsewhere. She was out of the city by now, no doubt— perhaps off this world completely if she arrived at the Gate before he placed soldiers there. But no, there was no way she could have been that clev—
"Sir." His eyes snapped aside to the soldier, who lifted a small leather-bound book up to him. Frowning, he snatched it from the soldier's hands and flipped it open. The journal had been damaged somehow, torn through and burned away by some inhuman hands, but he could still decipher the messy scrawl of the last page:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v186/tomatothief/annejournal3.jpg
He snapped the book shut, his frown turning severe. Jester. "If you find anything else, leave it on my desk. Have them search her workshop next — and someone get a technical analyst to work on the hounds," he snapped, turning away. He wound find her, break her, and have her beautiful mind working for him again in no time.
They tore into mattresses, sent plates and glasses to the floor until every cabinet was empty for confirmation. He watched them all with a clinical observation that was expected, his thoughts turning elsewhere. She was out of the city by now, no doubt— perhaps off this world completely if she arrived at the Gate before he placed soldiers there. But no, there was no way she could have been that clev—
"Sir." His eyes snapped aside to the soldier, who lifted a small leather-bound book up to him. Frowning, he snatched it from the soldier's hands and flipped it open. The journal had been damaged somehow, torn through and burned away by some inhuman hands, but he could still decipher the messy scrawl of the last page:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v186/tomatothief/annejournal3.jpg
He snapped the book shut, his frown turning severe. Jester. "If you find anything else, leave it on my desk. Have them search her workshop next — and someone get a technical analyst to work on the hounds," he snapped, turning away. He wound find her, break her, and have her beautiful mind working for him again in no time.