What is this place?” asked Quin.
“Safe house,” said Matheus. “We’re supposed to meet here if there’s an attack.”
The four of them huddled together in the alley across the street from the run-down factory. Sheets of plywood covered the windows. Graffiti, done with varying skill, obscured the brick. Scraggly grass grew around piles of refuse, littered with broken glass.
“Where is everyone?” Alistair asked. “Some of them must have gotten away.” He stroked Freddie’s back, his fingers leaving channels in Freddie’s thick fur.
“They’d be inside, wouldn’t they?” Matheus frowned. “I mean, a great lot of people hanging around outside isn’t exactly stealthy.”
“I suppose,” said Alistair. He frowned as well. He exchanged looks with Matheus, before they both turned back to the factory. Alistair’s fingers tightened on Freddie’s fur.