She should go inside. Key for Vashti. And as much as she dislikes the idea, Elan, too.

But the woman is dead, and that pool is made of blood. She's too far away, but her subconscious conjures up the smell and she shudders, stomach churning.

Shelley backs into the small library on the other side of the hall, face white but set, making for the discreet unit on the other wall.