HOW THE GRINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS AND EYES ONLY STOLE IT BACK
Bad news is like a relative. It travels fast, comes over when you don't expect it, and it usually ruins all your plans for the weekend.
It was two nights to go until Christmas Eve, and the constant rain over Seattle seemed eager to mimic a blizzard. Lacking the cold and snow, it overcompensated with force and unpleasantness. Logan Cale – heir, vigilante, hopeless romantic – had spent the last days before the holidays providing homeless shelters with blankets, orphanages with toys, and bike messengers with food. He was now enjoying a quiet moment of peace in front of his gigantic panorama window, staring into the night, listening to the howling storm, and engaging in a little daydream about a certain dark-eyed girl.
Miles from Seattle, Colonel Donald Lydecker – soldier, torturer, amateur salsa dancer – was peacefully asleep in his army barrack bed. The training of the X-series went was going according to plan, they had put together a little Christmas party for the kids and a bigger one for the staff, and the escapees of '09 had been pleasantly low-key lately. Life was good, and the Colonel dreamt of the perfect Christmas among his rule-abiding little soldiers.
Two phones rang at the exact same second.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to Insane Troll Logic. I hope your gift is worth the wait.