Clarisa growled inside me, her instincts on high alert, but her voice in my mind was strangely calm.
“Don’t worry, Nellie,” she said, her tone as firm as a rock. “I’m here. I’ve recovered enough to face whatever comes. But… something’s off. I can’t quite place it.”
“What does that mean?” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the dimly lit room.
I stood up, my bare feet touching the cold, sticky linoleum, and walked to the door, my eyes fixed on the rusty handle. Another scrape, louder, like fingernails scratching wood. The yerba mate gourd throbbed in my chest, a burning heat that made me dizzy, and I knew, deep down, it was Ethan. But fear clouded my judgment, making me hesitate. The idea of going to his room, of seeking refuge with him, flashed through my mind like lightning. I ha
