Sondra rolled her head back and laughed. The deep-throated chuckle chilled Griff, hurtled him back to the time he'd owned a tire factory. Or was it ore? Fabrics? Shit. The specific industry failed to materialize.
The glimmering shimmering moment trickling icy fingers into his ribs was attending an animated movie with his then-wife and his then-stepchildren. Some malevolent queen up on the screen rolled back her cartoon head and laughed at the black end certain to befall the virginal heroine.
That version of Griff would never have believed he could be tripped up by something small and light and held in the hand, enclosed in a slipcase emblazoned with NFL logos or a Hello Kitty.
He failed to believe he was important enough to earn the title of target. It wasn't a vast conspiracy. It was change. It was the way the world worked. Once it was cave walls. Then clay tablets. Now the migration from the page to the indefinable, yet another progression. He was collateral damage. A prince vanishing in the dust of a kingdom unexpectedly crumbled.