Chapter 35: The Dorian Collective

The Journalist

You’re actually going? she’d asked. It’s a piece of paper, Harrison. It could’ve been sent from anywhere, written by anyone. 

The conversation replayed in his mind’s eye. He couldn’t stop it from consuming him, but he also recognized the constant back-and-forth had been harder on his wife than it had been on him. He didn’t blame her for it, not in the slightest. In fact, several times—perhaps most obviously in their last conversation—Julia had started to believe she’d be better off with someone less impulsive, someone who wouldn’t hop a train at half past two in the morning because an anonymous messenger had left a physical paper note on his doorstep.

It read: IMMORTALS, N. STATION ASAP.