Rosita’s screams echoed down the concrete hallway . They weren’t weak cries or frightened whimpers—no. They were loud, furious, shaking-the-room kind of screams, the type only a cornered animal makes when it feels its world closing in.

“Catherine! Catherine, let me out! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Rosita shouted, her voice cracking. “I don't know what you are talking about!”

Donatello entered, his expression stone cold, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud.

...