Eleven

Harrow ignores the thin sound of El's voice, the apology too little and far too late, carrying a confusion she can't address. She doesn't stop until she reaches the front of the library, and even then it's just a moment's pause, a twitch of her fingers to crumble the bones into a dust that filters slowly down and onto the library floor. Once it's done, she pushes the door open, stepping back out into the harsh, bright light of the afternoon.