She had exactly fourteen hours left. Days were too large, too forgiving. Hours were sharp, precise — her only tools now. Her final document retrieval from the pack archives was a calculated move. She needed a certified copy of her birth and pack registration records. Legally, she was entitled to them. Head Archivist Torven couldn’t refuse, though his corrupt bones screamed otherwise. She timed her walk precisely for 7:15 AM, when the corridors were empty.
But she hadn’t accounted for Caius.
He stepped from the east stairwell as she rounded the corner. The corridor was deserted. Neither of them moved, locked in a frozen tableau.
Five agonizing seconds. Neither spoke.
Caius looked worse than yesterday. To an ordinary human, flawless — tailored suit, commanding posture — yet her gaze cut
