Yakabatanidzwa ruzha

door lock, but it wasn’t until I reached across the way to touch her bound wrist that she tried to jerk away from me. “Ambrose,” I said. “San Francisco. Ambrose. San Francisco…” Those words, over and over again, as I sank into her mind. The pressure that had been steadily building from the moment I boarded the plane in Maryland released with a soft sigh. I felt myself lean closer to her, a rushing stream of thoughts filtering through her mind. They were blindingly bright—there was a painfully