Danielle could hear the faint rustle of papers from inside the office through the cracked door. The movement was deliberate, professional, but in the quiet of the hallway it sounded sharp, precise.
Mason shifted in place, rubbing at his arms, glancing toward the door. His small shoulders twitched as if trying to steady himself against a storm he could not see.
Rowan leaned close to her side. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but firm. "He doesn't know."
Danielle tilted her head at him, ears flicking, nose twitching. She studied his small face. "What do you mean?" she thought toward him.
"They are bad," he said matter-of-fact, his small hands tightening briefly at his sides. "They are lying. He doesn't know."
Inside the office, the conversation continued, quieter now, muffled throug
