BLAKE'S P.O.V.
The air in the hallway was heavy with dust and death. The smell of scorched bone lingered, sharp and unnatural. I stood over the fallen creature, still catching my breath. My chest burned where it had hit me. Every muscle in my body screamed for rest, but Irene didn’t seem to notice the exhaustion creeping into my bones.
She was already circling the corpse. Her eyes flicked over every broken piece of the Bone Wolf like she was trying to solve a puzzle only she could see. Her movements were slow and precise, the kind of careful that came from fear pretending to be curiosity.
“What are you doing?” I asked, wiping the blood from my lip.
“Looking for something,” she murmured.
“It’s dead, Irene. Or whatever passes for dead in that thing’s world.”
She crouched, her hand hove
