Marybeth's POV
Marybeth pulled a gray sweatshirt off the hanger and snapped it once to shake the dust out.
Not much else was worth taking. Most of the clothes had been dragged to the floor and ruined. Some were torn into strips. Some were stuck flat to the tiles with old water damage and rat shit dried over them. A few looked like they had been stepped on for months. Still, a sweatshirt was a sweatshirt. Better than the wet, filthy mess hanging off them now.
"This one's decent," she said, tossing it to Iyisha.
Iyisha caught it with one hand, but her eyes were not on the sweatshirt. They kept moving. Window. Counter. Back room. Ceiling. Window again.
Marybeth saw it and kept her own face flat.
Good. At least one of them was still listening to the bad feeling in the room.
