TRISTAN

The scent of the cells always made my skin crawl. It was a mix of damp stone, old silver, and the stagnant, sour smell of trapped wolves.

I walked toward the heavy steel door, my shoes against the concrete.

Beside me, Doctor Wilson was a mess.

I could hear his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

Every time a snarl echoed from behind the bars, he jumped. I ignored him. My focus was on the body moving inside the cell.

Tyler.

He was waiting.

As the two ...