POV: Clara

The hallway felt like a coffin pressed too tight.

Dust swirled from the splintered doorframe Daniel had punched through. Wolves’ musk stained the air, acrid and sharp, their boots shifting with itchy impatience on the broken tile. Jenny’s umbrella had caught in the hall’s overhead light, gleaming wet under her fists.

And Rob.

He was leaning back with all the patience of someone who had all night to play this game. His smirk was nailed into place, eyes ...