❝ –– perhaps it’s true that things can change in a day. and when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house—the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture—must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. and suddenly, they become the bleached bones of a story.
“Other than me almost falling asleep over these stupid petri dishes? Not a whole lot, really.”
“Some of them have finally started to spontaneously contract, but the other ones are still refusing to do anything,” Delia reported as she stood up from her chair and took a minute to stretch. “Trust me, I’ve jotted down so many notes, I wouldn’t be surprised if I get carpal tunnel after all of this is over.”
“Any ideas why the others haven’t begun to contract?” Teddy asked, a glitter in her eye giving away the fact that she already knew the answer. “I see that the cells have really grown under the temperature sensitive zone. Why do you think that is?”
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